Deep Water
by Rose Malmaison
Summary: Tony sits on a beach, staring at the waves, not quite knowing how he got here or how things have gone so wrong with Gibbs - except it all started when Mike Franks came to town. Post-Hiatus and Faking It. Slash, Gibbs/DiNozzo. Established relationship, relationship on the rocks, season 4, Hiatus, Faking It, hurt/comfort, non-linear storyline, happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

**DEEP WATER  
><strong>Rated: M  
>Pairing: GibbsDiNozzo  
>Tags: slash, established relationship, relationship on the rocks, season 4, Hiatus, Faking It, hurtcomfort, non-linear storyline, happy ending

Characters: Tony, Gibbs, Ducky, Abby, Mike Franks, McGee, Ziva, Director Jenny Shepard  
>Spoilers: 3x23 Hiatus 1, 3x24 Hiatus 2, to 4x04 Faking it<br>Warnings: sexual situations  
>Chapters: 10<br>Words: 30,000  
>Takes Place: at the end of 2006<br>Written for NCIS Secret Santa SeSa 2014

Disclaimer notes: I used some dialog from the episodes; credit goes to the NCIS writers.  
>Movie quotes and lyrics used are credited at the end of each chapter.<br>My medical knowledge comes from the Internet and some creative license has been used in this story.

Beta: Many thanks to CombatCrazy for all her help!

Recipient: penumbria  
>Prompt: Anthony DiNozzoJethro Gibbs  
><em>Long story, Tony-centric, based around one of the episodes where Tony could leave because of how he is treated, i.e. "Boxed In", "Faking It", "Hiatus", etc. I would like angst and him dwelling on his wanting to leave, whether he stays or goes is up to you. Gibbs could help steady him or make things worse. Jimmy could be what keeps him there or encourages him to spread his wings. Even if there is no romance I like it when Jimmy is his supporter. (edited)<em>

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

**CHAPTER 1  
>WHITE NOISE<strong>

_White noise: a constant background noise; especially one that drowns out other sounds. _

Tony is sitting on the beach staring at the waves, just like he's been doing for days now. He doesn't know why he stays here – it isn't as though he's going to find any answers in the endless expanse of ocean.

At first, watching the tide going in and out was peaceful, the pounding surf a white noise that calmed and subdued the non-stop conversations competing in his head. Now the sound of the crashing waves makes him feel small and very much alone. He comes down to the beach every day anyway, with towel and suntan lotion, and watches the waves as they rise and swell, and finally break, rushing up the sand towards him.

He thinks he arrived maybe…maybe a week ago, but it feels more like he's been here a lifetime. The sun hangs low in the sky at midday, and although it's hot, Tony's pretty sure it's December. He can't be certain though, what with his sense of time being fucked up, like so many other things lately.

He has no recollection of checking into the little motel cottage at the far end of the beach. It's really no more than a one-room shack with barely adequate plumbing, but the view from the little deck that is literally one step from the beach is worth a million bucks.

Seeking answers, Tony ambles over to the front desk of the Wanderer Motel & Cottages and asks the lady there to remind him how he's paying for the accommodations. She wears her black hair in a fat braid that hangs over her shoulder and she has a nice, genuine smile. She says, in a lilting Jamaican accent, "You charge the room, dat's the t'ing, on a gold card. For however long, you tell me, Mr. DiNozzo."

Tony says, with a smile, "I'm sure I told you to c-call me Tony." He hates that he stutters, although he doesn't do it half as much as he did just a couple of weeks ago.

She smiles and bows her head a little. "Ah true, you tell me to call you 'Tony'," she says, and shows him the credit card records.

So his brain isn't entirely scrambled; he _has_ been here for a week, like he thought. Tony thanks her and she tells him her name is Beatriz. He has a feeling this isn't the first time she's told it to him. It's hard to say how old she is, maybe late fifties. Her dark skin is smooth and free of wrinkles, except around her eyes, Tony notes. They have this look about them, like she's seen some bad things but doesn't want your pity.

For a second, he's reminded of Gibbs and his don't-you-dare-try-to-comfort-me glare that appeared in the wake of the _Bakir Kamir _explosion. Tony knows enough to keep his distance when Gibbs gets all prickly. If Gibbs ever saw one ounce of sympathy from Tony, he'd bite his head off, but this lady just pats Tony's arm and gives him a nod of understanding before she turns away, as if somehow they're co-conspirators.

As soon as he returns to his room Tony squeezes around the double bed to get to his luggage. There are only two bags so either he is traveling light or else he doesn't intend to stay long. He can't remember which.

Tony rummages in the smaller bag and finds a lot of medications sealed in a large zip-loc bag and a plain brown wallet. Apart from his driver's license, the only other contents are about $300 in small bills and a credit card linked to an investment account with Tony's name on it. After staring at the gold card for a good long while, Tony pieces together that the thousand shares he inherited from his grandfather all those years ago paid off, big-time. Tony has long-since sold them and diversified, and it looks like his escape fund is now paying for the secluded spot on the beach, for however long he remains there.

His clothing is still folded in the bags as if he's planning on moving out in a hurry. It's appropriate for winter on the Gulf coast: mid-weight cottons mostly, with a hoodie for warmth. There's one set of warmer clothes neatly folded in the bag, presumably what he traveled in. T-shirts, shorts, swim trunks, a pale green ball cap, sunglasses, toiletries: the bare minimum. Right now he's dressed in a plain gray T and cargo shorts. Tony wiggles his bare toes. A pair of neon green flip-flops is sitting by the patio door but he can't imagine buying anything that color.

He doesn't have a watch or a phone anywhere on him. No $4000 Omega on his wrist, no ID-and-badge wallet and no Sig Sauer securely clipped to his belt. Not even the handy knife that's hidden in his belt at all times because it's Rule #9 to carry a blade at all times and you have to abide by the rules. Only it appears that Tony forgot to bring any belts with him, much less a knife. It feels strange to be without these things, especially since he's been carrying a weapon on the job for the past eight years.

Tony flops down on the bed, and watches the slowly rotating ceiling fan while he tries to figure out what's going on, like what the hell he's doing here. Unfortunately the only thing that the intensive brainwork gives him is a pounding headache and falls into a restless sleep.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

The late afternoon wind has changed direction and the air is humid and salty. Tony stands at the open patio door and inhales deeply. He can detect the aroma of a wood fire and fried seafood, but it's faint. It's really quiet here. The nearby cottages, about four of them, are overgrown with bushes and are in disrepair so it's no surprise they're unoccupied. That's just fine by him. It's apparent that he has come here to be alone, to think, to make decisions…maybe even to escape.

Still, he misses his home with its expensive Italian leather couch and large-screen TV, his extensive choice of hair products and the showerhead that comes with 12 settings (from gentle tropical mist to drenching rainstorm) in his recently renovated bathroom, and his king-size bed with luxurious sheets and a mountain of pillows. He misses his work and his friends, too, and oddly enough he finds he misses the constant thrum of the heavy DC traffic.

But most of all he misses Jethro with his grouchy ways and his deep, slow kisses, and the way he wraps his arms snugly around Tony and gives a little sigh right before he falls asleep.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

When Ziva forced Gibbs' hand and he reluctantly returned to DC, they were all naive enough to believe that simply because he was back in town, things would return to the way they used to be. _Hey, Gibbs is here, everything will be all right!_ Except…things would never be the same as before. Gibbs had suffered a breakdown and had lost his last fifteen years. He'd walked out on them as if his team meant _nothing_ to him, making it as clear that his focus was on his past.

Tony knew about Jethro's first wife and little girl, that they'd been killed, and how Jethro would always hate himself for letting them down. He hadn't been there for them, hadn't protected them, and the guilt would stay with him forever.

Not long ago, when they were having a quiet moment together, the usually reticent Jethro shared a little bit about Shannon and Kelly with Tony. Jethro revealed the bare-bones facts of their death, but with Tony's gentle encouragement he followed up by relating how he'd met Shannon, the love of his life.

Tony understood the depth of the torment Jethro had gone through at the time, returning wounded from Desert Storm to find his family had been murdered. Imagine reliving it all again, fifteen years later, after he awoke from a coma with a time-warp version of amnesia. It was like having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time, a single-loop version of _Groundhog Day_. _"Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today."_

There was nothing that anyone could do or say to ease that pain, not even Tony, no matter how much he wanted to help. Jethro had to find a way to get through it on his own, all over again.

Perhaps Tony should not have been so surprised that Jethro's way of coping with his own personal torment was to run off to Mexico. Like a lot of men, the ex-Marine bottled up his emotions and let off steam in short, violent bursts. But mostly he kept his worst fears, his deepest pain to himself; look at the way he had never told anyone, not even his closest friends, about how he'd lost his family all those years ago.

Jethro needed to find a way to cope with his anguish, but he didn't have to do it alone. It looked like Jethro hadn't figured out that being part of a couple meant they should lean on each other when things got rough. Or maybe he didn't remember that. Tony tried to believe that, had the amnesia not come into play, Jethro would have turned to him for comfort. Being cast back into his past, confused and in mourning, once again, over the loss of his wife and daughter was too much for even the tough Leroy Jethro Gibbs to handle. And so he left to deal with it on his own.

On one hand, Tony understood how anger and frustration had led to his boss quitting after witnessing, from MTAC, an explosion set by a terrorist aboard the _Cape Fear. _That it also took out a Navy frigate, killing countless sailors, which could have been averted, added to the senseless loss. For all this to happen at the height of Jethro's struggle to comprehend that his family had been killed, not a week but _years_ ago, was the proverbial last straw.

Tony got that, but what he didn't comprehend, and what hit him hard, was when Gibbs took off without a word. Being left behind, with no chance to provide any comfort to the man he loved, left Tony with a sense of deep loss and helplessness that, although it surely didn't rival Jethro's pain, was a difficult thing to endure. He'd never felt so alone.

Tony was a realist and he knew, and accepted, that he was a placeholder until Gibbs returned. He never treated his position as a temporary one though, no matter what the others' opinions of him might have been. Tony had been appointed Special Agent in Charge of Gibbs' team by Director Shepard and he took the responsibility very seriously. Tony did his damnedest to excel at the job, asking himself, "What would Gibbs do?"

Only, the way Tony was treated by his closest colleagues, as if both he and all of his hard work were negligible and somehow inadequate, as if he did not deserve the job and could never possibly be half as good as Gibbs…did not sit well with him. He understood their need to have a strong leader at the helm and, indeed, Tony would be the first in line to wish that Gibbs _were_ here, in charge of both the team and his own life. But that wasn't the way the dice had fallen, and he expected everyone to stop whining, and to act as if Gibbs was there watching over them, no matter who was presently calling the shots.

But that's not the way thing happened. While Gibbs was away, Ziva and McGee, and Abby and Ducky to a lesser degree, did little to hide their lack of confidence in Tony, and despite the fact that Tony did everything in his power to get them to believe in him and his leadership skills, he could never get through to them. They say that familiarity breeds contempt and never was it so true. Without their support, and their respect, Tony's job became increasingly difficult to do and, if truth be told, joyless. And to top it all off, Jenny had him running around trying to get the lowdown on some French arms dealer by getting close to his daughter, which was taking up all his free time (which was very little in the first place) and wearing on him both physically and emotionally.

Finally, after what was probably the longest four months of Tony's life, Gibbs returned. He showed up in a scraggly beard, with the aroma of sweat, rum and Mexican tobacco clinging to his roomy guayabera shirt, and Tony hated all of it. Their former team leader was impatient and distant, and it soon became apparent that his sole focus was to get Ziva out of a jam so that he could return to the hot beaches and cold beer of his Mexican retreat.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Even though this motel is obviously at the end of the line, it does come with a basic version of room service in the form of a skinny teenager called Emile, who is Beatriz' grandson. He insists he's eighteen years old but Tony doesn't buy it for a second. Still, Emile will pick up take-out food and a bottle of vodka for Tony whenever he shoves some cash in his hand, so they both benefit from the arrangement.

Tony has never gone anywhere except to the beach since he arrived, and that's only a step from his doorway, so Emile's services prove to be indispensable. When he's hungry, Tony looks over a shabby flyer from an eatery down the road and asks Emile to pick him up an order of brown stew chicken and coco bread. But when Emile brings back a covered paper plate of curried goat and fried plantains, Tony stares at it, confused. He eventually realizes he must have read one thing yet spoken another when he placed his order. It's incredibly frustrating, because Tony can read the menu and visualize what he wants, but somewhere between his eyes – brain – mouth, his words get scrambled.

_Ground Control to Major Tom. Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong. . ._

Next time he comes by, Emile solves the problem by handing Tony a large, laminated menu from a place in town called Mango's. It has photos of all their offerings, so now Tony points to what he wants and hands over some bills. Emile is a good kid and when he returns with the food he makes an effort to carefully count out Tony's change. Tony can't quite decide whether the teen is simply being conscientious, or if he thinks that Tony's missing a few marbles.

They told Tony it would take a while for things to right themselves, and he accepts that these things take time. He's been injured enough times to know that you can't take shortcuts. Case in point: the plague. He returned a week too soon and barely made it through that first day back at work. If Gibbs hadn't been watching him like a hawk, as if he expected Tony to do a face-plant any minute, Tony might have given in and curled up in some quiet, dark corner. Nearly being blown up by a car booby-trapped by Ari didn't help his recovery any.

Now, part of his rehabilitation involves conversing with people, but he hates it when the wrong words tumble out, so he cuts back on speaking as if he is weaning himself off an addiction.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"Your brain is trying to make new connections, Anthony. You must keep up the therapy and get plenty of rest, and it should all come back. Shall we practice some speech exercises?"

Tony carefully shook his head. "D-don't w-want t-t-t…" He groaned when he couldn't get the words out but managed to blurt, "Shit!" Swearing comes easy.

"Hell, Duck, leave him alone if he doesn't want to talk."

"We cannot all successfully get through life under the guise of being a functional mute, Jethro."

"Yeah, well _I_ can understand him, Ducky, and that's all that matters."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Groundhog Day_ (1993)  
>Bill Murray<br>"Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today."

_A Space Oddity_ by David Bowie  
>Ground Control to Major Tom.<br>Your circuit's dead, there's something wrong. . .


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2  
>THIS END UP<strong>

_Gibbs' Rule #595-B: It's perfectly fine to crap out on your people so long as you claim you've retired._

"But Ducky, his hair is all long and crazy looking," Tony said in a low, terse voice. He couldn't stop babbling, his nerves taut with anxiety ever since they'd been informed that there had been an explosion and that it was likely that both Ziva and Gibbs had been caught in it, possibly...unthinkably...killed. "And he's got this scraggly beard. He looks like a pirate or something. His eyes are all bloodshot, probably from drinking hooch from morning to night with Franks."

A gruff voice from behind him, slightly amused, said, "They call it a 'red eye' for a reason. The flight I was on all night to get here."

Tony turned and saw Gibbs, whole and unharmed, even though his hair was slightly singed over the right ear and the acrid odor of C-4 explosive residue lingered about him. Tony impulsively hugged Gibbs, his heart pounding in relief, and exclaimed, "Oh, geez! You're all right! Good. All right. Thank God."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony grabbed all his stuff out of the bathroom he'd been sharing with Jethro for the six months prior to their lives being blown to hell aboard the _Bakir Kamir_, and the four months while Jethro had been incommunicado,and hurriedly stowed them in his bag_. _He was _not_ being a coward by avoiding Jethro; he reasoned that this was Jethro's first night back and it was plain to see that the man was not operating at full throttle…and he needed time to settle in.

It looked like Jethro was going to be hanging around for a couple more days dealing with the mess Ziva had gotten herself into. Naturally he'd want to sleep in his own house. Just because Jethro remembered most of his recent life, that didn't mean that he was going to welcome having Tony share his bed. There had been no overt sign that Jethro had a clue that he and Tony had been together and frankly, Tony was nervous as hell about being rejected. Who wouldn't be, given the shaky ground they were walking on? When they were in the basement earlier, Jethro was definitely not acting like himself. He even called Tony by the wrong name (Tony was positive Jethro knew damn well what his name was), smiling (which was definitely out of character), and giving the opinion that if McGee had been in charge, none of this would have happened. You know what one of Gibbs' rules is: if you think someone's playing you…

It made Tony yearn for the old days when a good head slap put everything in perspective.

Even if evidence suggested Jethro's memory had returned to some extent, it didn't mean that he was aware he was in a relationship with his second-in-command, much less that they were committed to each other. Only Tony was still committed to Jethro, even if Jethro wasn't in the loop. They'd been talking about having some kind of ring-exchanging ceremony. Tony was going to give up his apartment. Whatever had happened to forever?

Suddenly Tony was scared; what if Jethro didn't remember any of that, and what they meant to each other?

The mere thought of losing Jethro was painful and Tony's stomach clenched. No, he wasn't going to just sit by and let this slip away. He had to figure out a way to bring Jethro up to speed, remind him about their relationship. Straightforward was probably best but it might it be too much of a shock. _"Well, you see, Boss, we're gay and living together and we've been talking about coming out. Gonna have a party and do the whole 'I do' kinda thing." _Yeah, right, like _that_ was going to go down well with a guy whose emotional memory was stuck fifteen years in the past.

"Hey. What're you doing here, DiNozzo?"

Tony turned, startled. He clutched his chest dramatically. "God, you gave me a heart attack sneaking up on me like that! I thought you were out and…uh, I'm just packing up some of my things I…I left here." Tony had been staying at Gibbs' house most of the time while he was in Mexico, and had even raided his closet for a suit jacket when the loneliness had been overwhelming – although that had backfired when Ziva had accused him of trying to _be_ Gibbs – but it was blindingly obvious that he wasn't welcome there any more.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

Tying to hide his reddening cheeks, Tony shoved the rest of the clothing strewn across the bed into his bag and avoided looking directly at Gibbs. "I stayed here a few nights while you were away on your Sunset Safari, Boss. You asked me to keep an eye on your house. Well, actually, you asked Ducky, but he asked me because he lives further away and there was this leak under your kitchen sink and I said I'd take care of it. Only I had to call a plumber 'cause I soon realized it was beyond my limited capabilities and I know you're a whiz with a wrench but…"

"DiNozzo!"

"Yeah, Boss?" Tony zipped up his bag and took a step towards the door. Jethro was blocking the way and he didn't move. He was staring at Tony like he was trying to figure something out but all Tony could think was that he'd have to come back when Jethro wasn't around so he could retrieve all his suits and other personal items in the guest room closet. Jethro never looked in there so Tony didn't think the older man would realize that Tony had been staying in his home a hell of a lot longer than the occasional night.

After a long moment, Gibbs shook his head as if trying to clear it, and said slowly, "Tell me how much."

"Excuse me?"

"How much you paid the plumber. So I can repay you."

"Oh, sure. His invoice is taped to the fridge." Tony had retained his own place as a backup but he'd been sleeping there less and less over the six months he and Jethro had been together – before he'd gone off to Mexico. Jethro had seemed to understand Tony's need for a place to retreat to, or at least he hadn't said anything about Tony giving it up it, but Tony had planned to say good-bye to the apartment when his lease was up. Now he was glad he had because, what with the chill between him and Jethro, he could very well be out on the street.

Gibbs said, a little regretfully, "I'm not coming back, Tony."

"Yeah, I think we all got the memo that you quit, Boss. Several times, in fact."

"I'm retired," Gibbs said without conviction.

"No, what you did was _quit_, on yourself and all of us. And without any warning. Not even a word!" That sounded bitter, but what the hell, it was the truth.

Jethro compressed his lips but he didn't say anything in his own defense.

Tony snorted. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He pushed his way past his former boss, bag in hand, and headed out the front door. It was as though something really good between them had died. Tony didn't dare look back, sensing Jethro's eyes upon his back, afraid that he was going to break down before he made it to his car.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"He left? He didn't even say good-bye to me!" Tony berated himself for not talking to Gibbs that first night, when he'd had the chance. He had really believed that Gibbs was going to stay, but once again he'd quit on them after only a couple of days in DC.

Tony slammed his desk drawer (formerly Gibbs' desk drawer) shut. "Oh yeah, he did say he wasn't staying, didn't he? So that makes it okay to rush on out without even saying good-bye, right? Must be one of Gibbs' Rules, you know, Rule #595-B that states, 'It's perfectly fine to crap out on your people so long as you claim you've retired.'" He stood up and said determinedly, "You know what? That's it! I am never going to expect anything out of that man again. Never!" Without looking at Tim or Ziva, Tony picked up his gear and headed for the elevator, ignoring the stares that followed him.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

It turned out that Gibbs hadn't gone that far.

Gibbs spent some time with Fornell and, motivated by God knows what, stuck around to assist on an old case that re-opened.

For the next few days, Tony was in a daze. He couldn't figure Gibbs out. There was a For Sale sign out front of his house. His hair was neater, his beard trimmed. Rumor was that the director had never filed his retirement papers. And when Tony asked Gibbs for direction on their case, Gibbs had turned to him and said, "You're the boss." And he'd meant it.

Tony kept telling himself to man up and go to Gibbs' place, to just sit down and talk with him over a cold beer. "Tell him the truth. Let him know which end is up, DiNozzo," Tony said to himself. "Tell him you love him to death, even if he can be the most stubborn man on the planet. Remind him of who he is and what he means to you." When he went to Gibbs' home that evening, armed with Chinese take-out and a six-pack of fine beer, the lights were off and nobody was home. Tony waited a couple of hours but Gibbs never showed up.

Tony went back to his own place, ate the cold pizza and drank most of the beer.

He had a feeling that time was running out.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony might have brain damage but he was not a fool. He knew what the doctors wouldn't say: that he will likely never be the same again. Like duh. He figured out pretty early on that he'd never regain all those skills that most people took for granted, everything from mobility to communication. Physically, he'd been left weak on his left side, although that had improved after just a few weeks and his limp became less noticeable. He had some issues with his vision and his right eye had lost some acuity. These handicaps made him angry and frustrated, and doing therapy took a lot of energy, energy that was in short supply.

At times Tony outright rebelled but Jethro was there to encourage him and, at times, bribe him.

"You like to swim, don't you?"

"They make me w-w-wear…" Tony made a motion to indicate a safety harness.

"It's to keep you safe."

"I d-don't need safe."

Jethro squatted in front of Tony. "So what do you need?"

Tony frowned at him like it was a trick question. Jethro waited patiently. Tony lowered his eyes and shrugged. "N-need you."

Jethro was smiling, just a little. It was obvious he was pleased. "How about I swim with you?"

"You c-can do that?"

"I think I can make it happen."

Tony laughed. "M-make it so."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Determined to be independent, Tony finds his own way around most of his stumbling blocks. He's like Chauncey Gardiner in _Being There_, the simple man whose simple statements are misinterpreted by everyone he meets. In the end, Gardiner decides it's far easier to say nothing at all.

_"I like to watch," says Gardiner, eyes drawn to the television._

The good thing is that here at Cypress Bay nobody bothers Tony and, as he already knows from a lifetime of experience, a smile will get you a lot further than a frown. So he keeps to himself and sleeps quite a bit, but that's okay because Ducky said he needs plenty of sleep while he heals. Tony drinks a lot, too – vodka – although he's always been more of an imported beer kinda guy. For some reason he can't stomach beer; the smell makes him nauseous. Sometimes when he wakes up in the morning with a splitting headache, and trips over the empty Smirnoff bottle rolling around on the floor, he has trouble registering that he's the one who drained it dry.

Early mornings and late afternoons, when the sun isn't so hot, he walks along the water's edge and watches the waves roll in. They're not very big on this coast, but the sea is warm and he likes to walk in the shallows with the incoming waves lapping at his ankles. The wet sand under his feet is like quicksand, and the pull of the undertow enticing.

At the end of the day, Tony goes in for a swim, heading straight out to sea, or as straight as he can manage with the constant pull to the left because of his weak muscles. He chases the setting sun until it sinks into the black sea, and then he turns around and heads for home. Sometimes he's too exhausted to swim another stroke and, his leg muscles cramping, he rides the swells, letting the waves carry him along. There are times when he barely makes it back to shore and he knows he's playing a dangerous game.

It's like Tyler Durden says in _Fight Club_: "First you have to give up, first you have to _know_…not fear…_know_…that someday you're gonna die."

Only Tony stopped being afraid a long time ago.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Being There_ (1979)  
>Peter Sellers<br>"I like to watch."

_Fight Club_ (1999)  
>Written by Chuck Palahniuk (novel)<br>Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Meat Loaf  
>Tyler Durden: First you have to give up, first you have to <em>know<em>…not fear…_know_…that someday you're gonna die.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note to reviewer: To answer your question CloseToTheEdge, yes this is Tibbs. Be happy:) _

**CHAPTER 3  
>OMISSION<strong>

_Three conditions are necessary for Penance: contrition, which is sorrow for sin, together with a purpose of amendment; confession of sins without any omission; and satisfaction by means of good works.  
><em>~ Thomas Aquinas

Around one in the morning, there was a knock on Tony's door and, lo and behold, when he opened it there stood Jethro, looking ill-at-ease and just about as nervous as Tony had ever seen him. Jethro gave a vague sort of shrug that might have been an apology, so Tony ushered him in.

Jethro sank onto the couch and leaned forward, his head in his hands.

Tony turned the volume down on the TV but left it on. He had been half-heartedly watching an old film. "I'll get the coffee," he said, and went into his small kitchen to heat up a cupful for his visitor.

"Here," he said, holding the steaming mug out for Gibbs to take, making him look up. Tony found he was angry with Gibbs, not that losing his memory was his own fault. He was pissed off that the man had made a career of keeping his feelings hidden, making it difficult for those closest to him to read him. At times like this, Gibbs was human enough to need the support of his friends even if he denied it with every fiber of his being. But seeing Gibbs' lost expression when he reached for the coffee made Tony soften and sit close to him.

Gibbs drank and grunted his thanks.

Tony almost rolled his eyes, but resisted. "Look, Gibbs–"

At the same time, Gibbs spoke. "Tony, I've been–"

Tony smiled and waved his hand. "You first." He thought that Gibbs was going to refuse but instead his shoulders dropped a little as if he'd made a decision.

"When I woke up…I didn't know anything. Except that my wife and…" Jethro looked away and swallowed and seemed to be having a hard time.

"It's okay, Jethro," Tony said, letting Jethro know he didn't have to spell it all out.

"No it _isn't_ okay," Jethro replied angrily. "I didn't…" He looked into Tony's eyes, searching for something, as he struggled to find the right words.

Tony waited, unsure of where this was going. One thing he knew, no way was he going to let Jethro walk out of his apartment before Tony got the chance to explain their history, how they'd been together for a while. He needed to let him know how hurt and devastated he was when Jethro left for Mexico without a single parting word. And then, afterwards, if Jethro still wanted to leave, if it proved to be too much for him or he couldn't accept their relationship, then so be it. But Tony would never give up trying to regain what they'd had together. He'd never stop being Jethro's friend and he intended to be there for him, no matter what. "What's going on, Jethro?" Tony asked gently.

Jethro closed his eyes for a moment and, upon opening them, said, "I lied to you."

Tony raised his eyebrows, shocked more by the admission than at the fact that Jethro had lied. "You lied? About what?"

Now Jethro was looking really nervous, which was something Tony had never seen before. "I lied by omission," Jethro confessed.

"Okay…you want to explain?"

Jethro looked at his hands and after a long moment said in a strained voice, "My whole world was wrapped up in Shannon and my little girl. They were…everything to me. And when I woke up, all I could think of was them, and how they'd been killed and…I couldn't stay here. I don't know why I thought that putting distance between me and everything I knew would make any kind of difference, but I needed to be away from everyone who was trying to help me. I didn't want them to see me like that. I couldn't face…" He slowed down and ran a hand through his long hair. "I'm sorry, Tony. I knew I was leaving you behind and I didn't care. I _couldn't_ care. It took all my strength to deal with what had just happened, what I _thought_ had just happened, and my girls were gone, taken from me and…But at the same time I _knew_ you, Tony. I knew what you meant to me but I couldn't let you in…I _couldn't_ because I was afraid if I did I'd somehow lose them and…"

Gibbs made a sound of frustration and Tony reached out, touching his arm. "Hey, hey! It's all right. You think I don't know what you've been going through? I don't know how you do it, how you even function, because I'd be such a mess and you had to re-live it all and…I mean, I wouldn't want to _live_ if you died, Jethro."

Tony didn't know who made the first move, but all of a sudden Jethro was clinging to him, his breath hot against his neck, his beard scratchy against his cheek. Tony hung onto Jethro for dear life, afraid on an instinctive level that something or someone was going to take him a way. And then Jethro whispered, "Oh God," and after that Tony took care of him, stripping him down to his boxers and taking him to bed and holding him close all night long.

In the morning, Jethro seemed better although he was quiet, even for him. Tony called in to say they were taking the day off, not allowing the director to change his mind when she reminded him of the after-hours undercover work he was involved in. "It can wait a couple of days," he told her, thinking he'd have to get out of it and that Jenny was not going to be happy.

They went over to Jethro's house after lunch and removed the For Sale sign, even though Jethro wasn't sure of what his next step was going to be. "Seems I've run out of vacation time," he told Tony as they sat on the back deck.

It was a cool day but the sun was warm enough. They located a couple of beers and sat and talked for a while. Tony was cautiously optimistic, but by the end of the day, it was obvious that Jethro had managed to get over a serious hump and no matter whether he decided to retire for real or to go back to NCIS, at least he seemed willing to talk it over with Tony first.

"No more disappearing without fair warning," said Tony, trying to keep his tone light.

"I'll tell you first," Jethro promised.

He sounded sincere so Tony accepted his word with a nod. "You know, it's sort of ironic that I'm the steady one in this relationship, considering I used to change jobs every two years like clockwork."

Gibbs turned his head and squinted at Tony. "You telling me you're ready to take a transfer?"

"No," Tony assured him. "No, I'm happy where I am. Of course, I _am_ the senior agent and I like it, and you are…what exactly is your position now that you're back, Gibbs?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't be on the same team. You know, two bulls locking horns." He spoke casually but Tony could tell he was being serious.

"I'd rather work on your team as your senior field agent, Gibbs, than not work with you at all."

"You'd take a demotion?"

Tony snorted. "According to my teammates, I was never really in command. They were waiting for you to show up."

Gibbs was frowning now. "You headslap them?"

With a laugh, Tony said, "No, that's a Gibbs thing. There would have been a mutiny if I'd started doing that. My leadership style is more along the lines of 'can't we all just get along?'"

"No wonder they were so glad to see me. They need a firm hand, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned and Jethro looked at him sideways, so Tony shrugged and said nonchalantly, "Guess I do, too. You know, like especially in the bedroom."

That caused Jethro to face him and a second later he grabbed Tony's wrist and hauled him to his feet. "Oh yeah? I think maybe we need to go upstairs so you can explain to me exactly what you need."

For the first time since Jethro had returned, Tony believed that, after all, everything would be all right. Jethro pulled him close, his hand on Tony's back, and Tony just about melted under Jethro's searing kiss.

Tony gasped, "Bedroom…you remember where it is, right?"

"Oh, I think I can find it," said Jethro, grinning as he pulled Tony inside.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Gradually over the next few weeks, things slowly got back to normal. Gibbs returned to his former position as team leader, and he took his desk back by unceremoniously dumping Tony's files and personal belongings on his old desk.

Once they were alone, Tony asked, "What the hell was that about?"

"What?"

"Dumping all my stuff on my old desk. You could have asked, you know."

"Huh."

Exasperated, Tony demanded, "Is that all you have to say?"

"I needed my desk back," said Gibbs, as if that was the end of that.

Tony stared at him in disbelief. "You don't have _any_ idea, do you?"

Jethro looked at Tony like he couldn't figure him out. "You're mad at me because I put your things on your desk?"

"It makes it looks like…" Tony took a moment to swallow his temper. In a calmer voice he said, "It makes it look like I'm being shoved aside and you don't care about me, that I didn't deserve to be in charge and…"

Gibbs took hold of Tony's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Tony. You listening to me? Sometimes a desk is just a desk. None of this takes away from the fact that you did a great job, held everything together in a tough situation when your asshole of a boss up and quit and dumped everything in your lap."

"But –"

"And if they can't see it, see how good you are, then they're idiots. You're a fine agent, DiNozzo, and if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be staying. You know that, right?"

Tony shook his head. Jethro was wrong. "No, that's too much…responsibility. I'm not the reason–"

"Yes you are. You _are_." Gibbs drew Tony into a hug and didn't let him go for a very long time.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

When fractured memories and thoughts come out of nowhere and disturb his quiet time, Tony pictures them as clouds and makes them drift away, just as his therapist taught him to do. Unfortunately, it's only a temporary solution. They soon intrude once again and the resulting headache forces Tony back to his room, where he draws the blinds against the too-bright sun, and lies down with vodka and painkillers for company.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Although the others welcomed Gibbs back as if he were the answer to all of their problems, the man who they all considered to be a tower of strength was not exactly steady on his feet. His colleagues might not see him falter, or _want_ to see it, but Tony knew Jethro Gibbs all too well. Gibbs struggled at times, pausing when his memory failed him, but he was really good at covering up and Tony was pretty sure that nobody else noticed. Or maybe they were just giving the boss some slack.

Gradually Gibbs settled in, and as the days went by Tony noticed that his boss didn't draw a blank quite so often when he had to remember a name. He didn't grumble so much about missing happy hour at Carlos' Cantina, either, didn't mutter under his breath about how he should be working on a teak hot tub at Mike Franks' place instead of running an investigation. But Gibbs went back to wearing polo shirts and dress slacks from Sears, had his hair cut and even got rid of that God-awful beard. Even though the mustache remained, these were signs of progress.

Tony could see that Gibbs had changed through his experience. It was subtle, a softening of his edges that did nothing to reduce his core strength, a hint of patience and understanding that the old Gibbs hadn't shown, except on very rare occasions. He took the time to teach McGee and the other agents while out in the field, something he hadn't done for a while. Gibbs meted out small doses of praise and even smiled occasionally, and when Tony lightly kidded him about it, Gibbs would frown at him and even look a little embarrassed. But then he'd smile again, and that made Tony happy.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

It's only when Tony relaxes on a beach chair outside his cottage, and lazily watches the sun setting in a symphony of oranges and pinks, that he manages to reconstruct how he came to this piece of heaven.

He can picture Abby in her lab, her fingers flying across the computer keyboard. "Okay, I got you a direct flight so you don't have to worry about a thing, and I mean not a _thing_, Tony, other than taking care of yourself, which is what's important right now. There'll be a taxi waiting to take you there, right to the doorstep, and I phoned the motel and talked to the nicest lady who runs the place, and Sister Agatha swears – well, she doesn't actually _swear_, of course, although she comes close when she throws a gutter-ball – that this is the perfect place for a retreat and–" Abby stopped mid-sentence and swept Tony into a heartfelt hug that felt so good even if she was close to crushing his ribs. "I _know_ you need this. I do, I _do_ but I _worry_, and it's too soon, Tony. It's only been a short while and Gibbs is going to get so angry when he finds out I've aided and abetted you, even though you're not a criminal, of course…"

Tony can still feel Abby's warm breath in his ear and for a moment his heart aches because he misses her, quite badly.

How he actually got to the airport is kind of vague, but Tony can see Ducky, clasping his hand at the boarding gate, eyes full of worry and disapproval. It was as if he was afraid he'd never see Tony again.

"My dear boy, this is not the answer. You still need care and monitoring and should not be–"

"I'm n-not going back there," Tony insisted.

It must have been obvious to Ducky that he wasn't about to change Tony's mind, but the ME tried another tack just the same. "Perhaps if I informed Jethro of your…"

Tony pulled his hand out of Ducky's grasp and snarled, "No. You k-keep him out of this. I don't w-want him to know! You don't get to t-tell him." Even if Ducky didn't deserve to be snapped at, Tony couldn't afford to relent. He'd made his choice and he was sticking by it. As if it wasn't difficult enough with a thick fog permeating his brain and sapping his energy, Tony's eyes started pricking. He blinked hard, afraid that he was about to break down in public. He closed his eyes for a minute, one hand to his head in a futile attempt to still the growing pain. His headaches were fewer and farther between than they were at first; he'd improved greatly in just the past week, otherwise there was no way he'd attempt this kind of journey on his own. "You're m-making my head hurt," Tony said aloud, without meaning to.

"Oh, Anthony…I know that sometimes Jethro can be a blind idiot, but this time, I assure you–"

"Please Ducky. P-please…just _don't_." The passengers were starting to board, so Tony said to Ducky, "I need…I _need_ to go. I'm s-sorry but I…"

"No apologies, my boy," Ducky replied, relenting. He touched Tony's arm in a compassionate gesture. "Although I do not approve of this foolhardy trip you are undertaking, it is obvious you cannot be swayed. Now, I have packed your medications. There are instructions but should you have any trouble with dosages or side effects, I want you to phone me, any time at all. I have alerted one of my colleagues down there and told him a little of your circumstances. And I want you to contact the local emergency services should you need immediate care. Will you promise me that?"

Tony nodded, just wanting to get out of there. "M-my f-flight…" His stuttering, which he thought he'd gotten past, had returned with a vengeance. He knew it was because he was tired but it was just one more outward sign that he wasn't ready to travel anywhere, much less on his own.

Ducky was fidgeting. "You should not be doing this."

"I _have_ to."

"Your doctors–"

"Can g-go screw themselves," Tony said harshly.

"You should not be flying so soon after–"

"I can't stay here," said Tony, almost pleading.

"Jethro–"

"No!"

"Then come and stay with me, at my home," Ducky persisted.

"No, no I can't. I'm s-sorry, Ducky," Tony said, fleeing before Ducky could say another word.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

The next thing Tony remembers is waking up to soft ocean breezes and a view of clean pale sand that stretches out as far as the eye can see. When he has a good look in the smaller of his two travel bags, he discovers half a dozen medication vials in a zipped plastic bag, along with one of those daily pill-keepers (already full with pills of assorted colors stored in each slot) plus a timetable for taking them written in Ducky's neat hand. Tony doesn't recognize half the medications, and after staring blankly at the dispenser for a long while, he sticks it back in his bag. There's a metal bracelet, too, with a small red logo on it, the Star of Life. He turns the ID tag over and reads the inscription on the back of it, then tosses it in the bag.

_No_, this is not him. He doesn't need _any_ of this shit. Tony kicks the bag in the corner and goes out for a swim.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4  
>MARATHON<strong>

_Love is not a sprint, it's a marathon.  
><em>~ The Big Bang Theory (2007)

Tony digs his toes deep into the sand until he can feel the cool, damp granules beneath the scalding hot surface. The tide is going out and gulls are dive-bombing a mass of scuttling crabs near the rocks. He laughs when a large crab fights back and wards off a feathered attacker with its massive claw.

Life is a lot simpler now. Just about everything Tony needs can be found between his room and the low-tide watermark. There's a tan line on his left forearm that tells him he usually wears a watch but he doesn't need any big-and-small hands to tell him when he's hungry or when it's time to go back to his cottage for some shut-eye. The way Tony sees it, his brain is stuck in neutral and he's coasting along quite happily. Only…when he thinks a bit more about it, Tony realizes that he isn't at all happy. Okay, so maybe it's more like he's content. Like a dog, content to be bored. This is his world now, where his actions are dictated by heat and hunger and darkness and tides.

The sun goes down and Tony heads for his room. He holds the bottle of vodka in his hands for a long time before he puts it aside.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Once Jethro swore he wasn't heading for the border at the first sign of trouble, Tony moved back into Gibbs' house. They slept upstairs in the second of three bedrooms, the big sunny one at the front that had a decent bed and, apparently, didn't come laden with any bad memories. And when they made love, if it didn't have quite the same fire it had had during the first months of their relationship, Tony wasn't about to complain. Now Jethro was tender and caring and finally, for the first time, he said the words Tony had been longing to hear for a very long time.

"Tony?"

Tony snuggled further under the comforter and mumbled sleepily, "Mmm."

"I…I love you, Tony."

Tony opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow. Even though it was still dark out, there was enough light to see a glint in Jethro's eyes. "I love you, too," he replied, his voice low with emotion.

His arm around Tony's middle, Jethro buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck. "I need you."

Tony slid one hand up to caress the back of Jethro's head, and was disturbed to find Jethro was shaking. "Hey, it's all right."

Jethro shook his head and said, his voice muffled, "No. It isn't."

"What's wrong?"

Jethro was quiet for a while before saying quietly, "I came close to losing you. I can't…I'm not the same…"

Tony hugged Jethro and said, "No, you're not, but we're together and even if you've changed a bit, you're still the same man, inside. And I've loved that man for a long time and that's not about to change anytime soon."

"Sometimes I can't remember things."

Not knowing if it was true or not, Tony assured him, "It will be fine. Give it time."

But then Mike Franks came to town and Tony soon discovered that their time was up.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

There are quite a few people enjoying the waves in front of the big hotel half a mile down the beach, but none of them ever come down his way. Tony goes a whole day and night without seeing anybody, not even Emile. Something tells him to stay where he is, that it's safe, so he doesn't even go out on the beach that day. Late that afternoon Tony eats a day-old burrito he kept wrapped in foil, and he leans over the slightly stained sink to drink water from the tap. It tastes strange, like blood, which freaks him out. He vigorously wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then lifts his t-shirt hem to rub his lips, but it doesn't help much. He ends up drinking vodka to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

After showering, Tony turns off the water but he never makes it out of the shower stall. All of a sudden there's a foul odor emanating from somewhere that makes him gag. His whole body shaking, Tony tries to take a step but his legs fold under him and he slides down the wall.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, curled in a fetal position over the shower drain. He's wet and shivering and his muscles ache badly, as if he's run a marathon. Somehow he gets to his feet. His head is killing him and he can see a lump on his temple when he looks in the vanity mirror. After half-crawling the few feet into the bedroom, Tony gropes around in the bag that holds his meds. He hasn't taken anything except pain pills since he got here and he puts aside the thought that Ducky would be furious with him if he knew. Tony downs the prescribed amount of migraine pills with shaky hands and crawls into bed, pulling the covers over his head.

When he falls asleep, Tony dreams that Jethro is in bed with him, with strong arms and curt orders that are a thin disguise for his love.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Over the years, Tony has gone through various stages of love for his boss, everything from fascination and admiration to a puppy dog stage when he would follow Gibbs around as if he could do no wrong. The realization that he was hopelessly attracted to his boss, and that maybe it was a bit more than mere infatuation, led to a period of hornier-than-hell sexual fantasies wherein Tony had to jerk off every morning so he wouldn't get a hard on while at work just because Gibbs happened to stand too close to him when they were looking at the plasma.

Thankfully that lustful period toned down after a series of bad cases left Tony feeling down and questioning why he was being so loyal when it was pretty obvious that there was a trust issue between him and his boss. That came to a head and they worked through it, though it wasn't easy, and eventually they settled into a comfortable friendship and that brought them closer. Along the way Tony's feelings deepened and intensified and eventually transformed into a genuine, abiding love that he kept a secret.

Never did Tony say a word about it to anyone. He did not hint or joke or leer about lusting after Gibbs. He did not do anything that would make his colleagues suspect that he was anything but a loyal senior field agent to his boss. Even in times of stress, after horrific cases had been wrapped up and he visited Gibbs in his basement sanctuary, Tony kept his feelings to himself.

Tony knew that Gibbs was aware that he was fond of him but they were friends first and foremost. That was fine by Tony. He loved Gibbs but he didn't expect his love to be noticed, much less returned.

Many a time Tony would have loved to fall into Gibbs' arms and declare his love after a terrible case – after being accused of murder, or when he almost got his throat cut by a crazy suspect, or was beaten up or kidnapped or drugged while undercover – but fate conspired and it never happened that way.

Then, one day in between cases, when they were winding up a three-day weekend off – this was about a year ago, in the fall – it just…happened. No fanfare, no drama, no mental anguish leading up to saying things he'd hidden for years.

Tony was at Gibbs' place, helping him clean up the back yard, which was a mess after they'd uprooted an ungainly sapling that had been dying a slow death for a long time. They were both tired, hungry, and sweaty, and covered in damp soil and bits of leaves, and Gibbs had been growling at Tony on and off for the past hour. Tony kept a lid on his temper but he'd already missed the beginning of a football game on TV, and for some reason Gibbs kept finding him new chores to do.

"Look, my back can't take any more of this, Gibbs. Can we wrap this up and deal with whatever next weekend?"

Gibbs turned on Tony, stepping right up to him so their chests were mere inches apart, and he rose to his full height and glared into his face. Tony had long since become inured to Gibbs' glares, but there was a strange light in his boss's eyes that wasn't from the setting sun, so Gibbs had his attention before he even demanded, "You giving up, DiNozzo? Just like that?"

That was just not fair and frankly, doing manual labor, even if it was at Gibbs' side, had just ceased to be amusing. "What? I've been out here at your side for hours, Boss. I've kept up my end pretty good but it's time to call it quits. I'm tired and filthy and my work boots are wet and squishy and I'm pretty sure there's a couple of worms in there making hot wormy love and–"

Suddenly Gibbs pushed Tony to the ground and they hit pretty hard but Gibbs rolled them a couple of times – one second Tony was on top and then he had Gibbs' entire weight pressing against his chest, his thigh between his legs, pressing against his dick. Tony didn't even have time to mount a protest because Gibbs' mouth was on his, hot and wet and so fucking demanding that Tony forgot everything, including the stick that was poking him in the back. With a deep groan, he wrapped one arm around Gibbs' shoulders and slipped the other hand behind his head and pulled him close. His brain was totally overloaded by the wonderful things Gibbs was doing with his tongue and the way his hand had found its way through a few layers of outerwear to stroke his belly, and how Gibbs' groin was rubbing against his in such a way that Tony was sure he'd be getting off, just on the friction, any time now.

All too soon, Gibbs hauled Tony upright, and when Tony moaned in protest, Gibbs pushed him into the house, saying, "Bed," in a deep voice that gave Tony the shivers all the way to his toes. Bed meant stripping and rough, barely controlled sex, but their second round was slower and more intimate and by the time they were sated and worn out, Tony knew that not only was he in love with Gibbs, but the man he'd thought of as boss, colleague, friend, was now his lover. And although Gibbs never said the words aloud – although to be fair, neither did Tony – Tony had never, not in his entire life, felt so loved.

Their relationship in private was much like their relationship at work, with Gibbs calling most of the shots and Tony falling in step. If Tony didn't want to do something, he knew enough to speak up, but generally he enjoyed doing whatever Jethro wanted to do. Besides, in the beginning, much of their off-duty time together involved sex and although they squabbled about who would be on top (although admittedly Tony would straddle Jethro as if it was his right, just to yank his chain), Tony would laugh when Jethro turned the tables on him because he loved the feeling of Jethro's cock filling him up, and Jethro fucking him until he screamed, taking him down, owning him, _loving_ him entirely, body and soul.

It didn't take much effort to keep their work/private lives separate. They didn't talk specifics about keeping it quiet, or taking separate cars, or whether or not to divulge their affair to their closest friends. They slept together most nights. Tony still went out with his friends, met new people at clubs, had dinner and movie nights with people from work. Jethro did the same though not with the same frequency, and his idea of entertainment was having a couple of beers and talking shop with Fornell.

Tony and Jethro would go to whoever's home was closest or most convenient after work, and eventually Jethro's clothing got mixed in with Tony's, and Tony's personal effects made their way over to Jethro's, and at some point Abby figured it out because Tony wore one of Jethro's shirts to work and they both came in with the same homemade lunch (such as pastrami on rye with mustard on the side) one time too many.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"Oh, Tony! Tony! Oh, it's Gibbs! And you! It's Gibbs and…" Abby jumped up and down, her pigtails flying like a kid on a trampoline.

Tony took firm hold of her upper arms and stopped her frantic bouncing. "Can we not broadcast it, Abby?"

Suddenly serious and sincere, Abby said, "Oh my God, of _course_ not. I'll be silent as a nun. Not that nuns are silent, of course. Not all of them, anyway. You should hear Sister Charles Divine once she gets annoyed…"

"Abby!"

"Right! Lips zipped! I cannot wait to see the two of you together…Okay, zipped for real now."

Tony slapped a hand to his forehead and cried, "Oh God, this is the beginning of the end."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tim saw what was going on long before Ducky did, but then Tim worked with the two men every day and he was pretty observant about what was going on right in front of his eyes.

Tony was positive they weren't exhibiting any tells but McGee had been looking from Gibbs to Tony and back, on and off over the past few days, and now that Gibbs had left the bullpen, Tony decided to confront him. "Have I got spinach stuck to my teeth or something, McPopeye?"

"Um…Um…"

"What?"

"Um…" Tim looked around to make sure nobody was around, and took a deep breath as if he was about to reveal some great secret.

He _knows_, thought Tony. Oh _fuck_. Tony frowned at his teammate and ordered, "C'mon, McGee. Close your mouth. You look like a guppy."

Tim's features relaxed into an understanding smile. "No, no, it's okay, Tony. It's _okay_."

"Are you trying to convince yourself that it's okay to be a little fish that swims around in a big tank?"

"No. It's…it's really okay. I _get_ it. I understand and I'm okay with it."

"What the hell are you talking about, McBlathering?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth Tony knew that he should never have opened Pandora's box. "You know what? Never mind. We have work to do, paperwork and…and stuff. So go forth and do stuff."

As if he hadn't heard Tony, Tim said slowly, "Yeah, it's weird and sort of unsettling but I get it. Gruff older man, a solid hero figure, takes young hotshot under his wing, and as their work relationship develops, they grow closer until one day, on a more personal level, they…"

Tim was looking at Tony with narrowed eyes, tapping a pen against his bottom lip. Not a good sign. He was in his writer's mode.

Tony extended one hand, palm outward. "No! No way! You are _not_ going to write this into one of your stories, McScribe!"

"But Tony! It's a really good set-up for a story about–"

"It would make a very bad story. Very bad, and you'll have to explain the whole thing to Jethro. In fact, I'll tell him you need to ask him about all those intimate details about his sex life, ones that you could _never_ imagine unless you've personally experienced them–"

Tim's eyes widened in alarm. "No, no no no! Not a good idea. Okay. I got it. I won't write about…" He whispered, "You know."

"Good." Tony took a few deep breaths before he asked in a quiet voice, "You're really okay with this?"

"Sure. But…are you happy, Tony?"

Tony had to grin. "Oh yeah. Man, he's really sweet under that tough exterior and the things he can do with his–"

"Please! No gross details! I just wanted to know if you're happy together."

"I'm happy and so is he."

"Okay then. Good." There was a long silence before Tim asked casually, "So, uh…how about those Redskins?"

As for Ziva, she never saw what was going on between Tony and Gibbs, but then she wouldn't believe it even if she had.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Around noon, knocking at the patio door wakes Tony up. It's Emile, who didn't show up the previous day. He faces a bleary-eyed Tony and says, "You look like shit, man. Sorry."

Without thinking, Tony responds automatically, "Don't say you're sorry."

Emile makes up for his absence the day before by bringing, along with Tony's lunch, an assortment of fruit and several large bottles of water, and a six-pack of some local beer. "They're out of vodka," says Emile, not meeting Tony's eye.

Tony doesn't believe him but he smiles and Emile seems relieved.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Even though Tony is certain that this amount of seclusion should be driving him stir-crazy, it doesn't. He has a laugh when he pictures Richard Pryor – back in the '80s, in _Stir Crazy _with Gene Wilder – saying when he's sentenced a prison term, 'A hundred-and-twenty-five years…Oh God, oh God…I'll be a hundred-and-sixty-one when I get out!'

Tony can't remember a big chunk of what he has come to think of as 'The Life Formerly Known as Tony's'. The missing part is all recent history, but once he sorts out what he _does_ remember, he lies on his bed, ceiling fan on, and lets it all flow over him. Like clouds. Dark ones with the rumblings of thunder in their depths.

It seems as though whenever he doesn't try to remember, things come back to him.

Before he left, Tony asked Abby what had happened, what he had missed. After some humming and hawing and scrunching up her face, she relented and Told Tony what she knew. He heard her words but they made no sense to him. It was as if they flowed over him and kept on going. They'd tracked down Franks, afraid the Russians were torturing him in order to get hold of a damning bit of evidence, an audiotape. Abby says she was never given the tape to process with the other evidence; Gibbs still has it. But two Russian arms dealers were killed, shot by Mike Franks and by Gibbs.

Now, when Tony lies still and lets his body float, he can clearly remember Gibbs signaling for him to wait outside the Mexican-style bar at the El Executivo Hotel. Ziva and McGee were covering the back. There were gunshots, and Tony called out to Gibbs, 'Boss?!' and was relieved to hear Gibbs' voice shouting, 'Clear! Secure the room.' Inside there were two bodies lying in ever-expanding pools of blood, with Mike Franks acting oh-so-fucking casual while he lit up a Rica Hoja. And Gibbs, so pissed about something that he wasn't able to conceal it, calling the shooting in to NCIS.

After that, Tony can't remember anything. It's a blank. De nada. Nothing. And more nothingness. It's like hitting a wall and he knows that he's missing something really important.

All the times he's had concussion, Tony has never forgotten more than an hour either side of the incident. _Never_. So that thought drives him to make a concerted effort to try to remember what the hell went on, but every time Tony thinks he's about to remember, he loses it. It drives him crazy, like when there's a word on the tip of his tongue and it slips away.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

'Because he needs to figure this out for himself, Agent Gibbs. It's better for the patient this way.'

"You telling me. Doc, that it's better to keep him in the dark, worryin' about what went on? What happened to cause this?'

'Exactly. As difficult as it may be for you to withhold information, it is best for Agent DiNozzo. Studies prove–'

'Bullshit!'

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Stir Crazy_ (1980)  
>Gene Wilder, Richard Pryor<br>'A hundred-and-twenty-five years…Oh God, oh God…I'll be a hundred-and-sixty-one when I get out!'


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5  
>TWILIGHT DREAMS<strong>

_'Cause baby, you and me are flying endlessly together in my twilight dream, my twilight dream.  
><em>~ lyrics by Trish Thuy Trang

There are homemade flash cards tucked in a side pocket of his bag. Abby made them, printing the word-and-picture cards and laminating them, just for him. Tony doesn't need a good memory to know that. He pulls them out and flips through them, hesitating at the one with pictures of a yellow car, a green-hulled sailboat, and a silver-haired man staring at him with pair of cool blue eyes. Tony turns it over and the name, which he can not only read, but can make sense of, is _Leroy Jethro Gibbs_.

"Gibbs," he whispers, and then louder, "Gibbs." Tony smiles and he's actually happy for a moment, and then, a little too late, he remembers to be angry. Angry at Gibbs. He can't remember why he's supposed to be mad, but he's sure that Gibbs did something wrong, something unforgivable.

_"What the hell is going on with you, DiNozzo?" _

Tony tosses the flash cards into his bag and goes out for a swim, but he can't get the picture out of his mind, of Gibbs' eyes, bright with anger while he shouts at him.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Early on, right after they messed around with his brain, and he was stuck in a hospital bed recuperating for what seemed like eternity, he was totally lost. He was reduced to being a newborn with limited comprehension, no verbal skills, no way of communicating except with wordless cries. Sometimes he screamed, not necessarily from fear or pain although he had plenty of both, but to let them know that he was alive somewhere inside that body.

Eventually Tony learned to distinguish one person from another, words came back in a limited way, and his reactions returned to normal even though his emotions were all over the place for a while.

He doesn't remember much of it, which they say is normal, but he's certain he blocked a lot of what went on because it's too painful or embarrassing to recall. But through it all there was one constant: Gibbs. Gibbs held his head when he was puking, held his hand when he was crying in confusion, held him back when he kept trying to get up to wash his Corvette (so they told him) which was weird because he sold that car back in Baltimore.

All through Tony's pain and recovery, Gibbs was simply _there_.

Which brings Tony to wonder why Gibbs isn't by his side any more.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

The lights were too bright. He was _not_ going to open his eyes. He wasn't sure he could anyway. Ducky was there, talking to some people, sounding sort of excited about a medical procedure.

And Gibbs…he was…holding his hand? Yeah, that was Gibbs. Despite the lights, Tony opened his eyes. He couldn't help moaning, his mouth soft and incapable of forming actual words. He tried to speak anyway but all that came out was a choking kind of gurgle and all of a sudden that made him angry, really incensed, that they'd taken away his voice, his ability to speak. Without any warning, he struggled, jerking his hand out of Gibbs' grip, seeing everyone's surprised expressions before they jumped on him, trying to keep him down. He screamed and fought, _damn_ he fought hard, but he was no match for them.

It took Gibbs, just about sitting on top of him, to bring him back to his senses. "Tony?"

Tony started to shake, scared, not liking the way they were all looking at him like he was some pitiful creature they were about to put down. He shook his head, refusing to give in even though he was helpless.

Gibbs laid his hands on either side of Tony's face, gently, as if he were holding something precious. "Tony! You have to stop moving your head. Listen to me. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Gibbs' face was close and Tony stared into his blue eyes. "Uhhh." He started to struggle again but they'd done something to his arms so he couldn't raise them. He panted and some machine nearby started beeping rapidly. It took him a minute to connect the dots, that that was him. He started trembling again, fear taking over, but Gibbs brought him back, grounded him.

"I won't let them hurt you. I'm right here and I won't leave you, Tony. You trust me?"

Still trembling, Tony blinked, but it must have been enough, the message getting through because Gibbs smiled. "Attaboy."

Exhausted, Tony gave up and closed his eyes.

Ducky said softly, "Good job, Jethro."

Gibbs muttered something that Tony couldn't hear.

"It is minimally invasive, with only a small hole bored into his skull. The tPA will be administered in small doses over a period of several days in order to reduce the size of the clot. Anthony is lucky to be a good candidate for this–"

"You call this lucky?"

"He is lucky only in that this is treatable," Ducky said, as if admonishing Gibbs. "I think we both know that his being stricken down by a man we all considered to be a compatriot was a despicable act and–"

Gibbs interrupted, his voice low and dangerous.

"I could not agree more. Now, I suppose I should go and inform everyone of the neurosurgeon's decision before they storm in here demanding to know Anthony's status. Perhaps I could bring you back some coffee while we wait for them to prep Anthony? Dr. Cooper informed me won't be long before…"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, I rather gathered that, my friend."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Some mornings, when Tony is lying in bed, not quite awake yet, he catches glimpses of his past. Twilight dreams, his mother called them, a haze of fantasy and reality with no clean edges. In some of these moments he's young; others feel more current. Tony sees people and places he swears he's never seen before. He watches himself do mundane things that can't possibly be as unremarkable as they appear – sitting quietly in a dimly lit room, listening to the soft swish of an unknown rhythm; laughing while he spoons fresh grounds into his coffee-maker; playing basketball with a pack of kids until his knee aches so badly it just gives out; sweeping the floor of a mom-and-pop store and feeling a deep satisfaction. He remembers them when he wakes, and puzzles over them as he would clues in a murder investigation. A meat puzzle without any meat.

_'Madame Curie, one of the world's most brilliant thinkers, once said, "There is nothing in life to be feared, it is only to be understood." I think it safe to say that Madame Curie never set her eyes on a meat puzzle,' says Dr. Mallard. _

Tony imagines various scenarios but he can't find any common thread and it makes his head buzz, like he's got a thousand bees in there, trying to tell him their secrets.

Often these visions – he's not sure they're actual memories – are detailed and bright enough that he's sure he could walk right in and become an active participant, only he's stopped at the door every time he tries to get closer. Being an outside observer is frustrating when all he wants is to get in. Other times Tony feels so disconnected he isn't even sure these are _his_ memories, his own dreams. It's like they're scenes from movies, short clips that have no meaning without rest of the film.

These memories, these untethered and random visualizations come in painful flashes, often at inopportune times. Once he is in the middle of haltingly asking Beatriz where the best place is to hear some live music in the nearby town, and suddenly Gibbs is right there, in his face, shouting at him. It's as if he is _there_, in the same room, even though Tony knows this is impossible. He has to stop mid-sentence and press the heel of his hand against his temple until the vision recedes.

Tony takes a breath and glances up to find Beatriz searching his face, her hand steady on his forearm. "I'm fine," he says, his voice thin. She still looks worried. "Anyone looking for me?" he asks.

Beatriz shakes her head. "No, Tony."

"Hmm."

"You want to be found?"

He thinks a moment and says with a shrug, "No, not really."

Sometimes Tony gets these feelings, like portents, that he can't get a handle on. They have no substance or form but he knows they're bad, like shadowed pangs of conscience or regret. Like knowing you've said terrible things that you can never take back. Even after he gets past the nausea and dizziness that inevitably follows, he's left with a dark feeling that clings to him for the rest of the day. It's disturbing, and although a part of him wants to know what lies at the root of his troubles, he can't make himself look at it too closely.

Tony does know some things for a fact: his name, the few parts of his childhood that he cares to remember. The job at NCIS and his co-workers. His investigations, right from the very first case he ever worked on. He remembers them all; he never forgot any of them even if, when he was still in the hospital, he sometimes had trouble speaking their names. Now Tony recites his mantra. "Abby, McGee, Ziva, Palmer, Ducky, Jenny. Jethro," he whispers. "Jethro?"

What Tony doesn't remember are the events that led up to him leaving DC or why he left. And what's worse is that he doesn't have a clue why he's been lazing around on this beach for more than two weeks now and nobody has tried to contact him.

_"I'll bet someone back east is going, 'Now why don't he write?'"_

Oh yeah, and that's another thing. He remembers every film he's ever seen. _Every single film_. How weird is that? He can recite every line from _Animal House, _knows all the camera angles in Luc Besson's 1994 thriller,_ Léon: The Professional, _by heart.

Léon saying, 'You need some time to grow up a little.' And Mathilda replying, 'I finished growing up, Léon. I just get older.' It was Léon who said sadly, 'For me it's the opposite. I'm old enough. I need time to grow up.'

He remembers _Eternal Sunshine_, _The Butterfly Effect_, _Inception_, _The Forgotten,_ the _Bourne_ movies and even _The Hangover_, for God's sake. So why can't he remember why he's here?

Hell, he even remembers the dialog he translated from 2002's _City of God_ from Portuguese to English when he was laid up with a broken leg a few years back. He loves that line in the movie about guts because, of course, it reminds him of Gibbs: _É preciso mais do que coragem para ser um bom bandido. Você precisa de idéias. You need more than guts to be a good gangster. You need ideas._

When he was working on the translation he looked up _coragem_ and that led him to _coraticum_. It's the Latin word from which we get our modern word 'courage'. Pretty much it breaks down to mean 'an action from the heart': courage, boldness, fearlessness and bravery. Abby jokes that in _Merriam Webster_, if you look up 'guts' it is defined as 'Gibbs'. _Coragem_…that makes Tony smile.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Last night he dreamed of his past. It was a truthful replay of what actually occurred and not some fantasy this time. He was running down the football field, only to be taken out in a bone-crunching tackle. He ended up in the hospital with a cast up to his thigh, with Coach telling him the devastating news that he'd just played his last college game and he was, '_Sorry, so very sorry, kid_.'

Tony tries running on the beach because he's been sitting on his ass for too long. Half a mile along, he's winded and listing heavily to the left, so much so that if he was in the desert he'd be going in one large circle and completely missing the water hole. It's his left side. It's still weak – all the way from his facial muscles down to his thigh. He hasn't paid it much attention up until now because the most strenuous activity he's engaged in was a trek to town one night to catch some music. Man, that didn't go very well.

The jazz may have been great but just half an hour of listening to what sounded like harsh, discordant notes brought on a migraine and Tony ended up hailing a cab to take him back home. Back to his room, his haven, his prison cell with a beautiful view. He downed some meds and collapsed on the bed, not waking until noon the next day. It was one thing losing your life, but another losing the ability to get pleasure from music. It was devastating and for the first time since he arrived he broke down and cried.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

A couple of days later, on impulse, Tony buys a guitar at a junk store on the edge of town. It's old and battered but when he tentatively strums his fingers across the strings, he finds it has a rich timbre. It isn't like the other night listening to the jazz band; it doesn't hurt his head at all. Once he sits down and starts playing, he finds the music settles his mind and soothes his soul.

Emile spots Tony's guitar and Tony invites him to join him out on the deck. They talk about music and after twenty minutes of conversation, Tony realizes he's hardly stuttered the entire time. He shows the young man some chords and how to pick a tune, and they end up laughing for no other reason than it feels good to make music.

"Tony? Tony?"

Emile's voice seems to be coming from far away. Tony blinks a few times and the kid's face comes into focus. He is kneeling in front of Tony, his hands on Tony's arms as if he's holding him in place, and he's obviously worried about something. The guitar has fallen to the ground but Emile doesn't seem to care.

"I should go get Grandmother," says Emile, looking as though he doesn't want to leave Tony's side.

Tony's mouth is so dry. He wants to get up and get some water but moving his arms seems to be so difficult, as though they were made of lead. He licks his lips and says slowly, every word an effort, "'M fine. Drink?"

Emile fetches Tony some water and even holds onto the glass while he drinks. Tony thinks it's unnecessary. "I'm fine," he insists.

Emile gets a stubborn look on his face and says in an angry tone, "Well, you weren't fine a couple of minutes ago, man. You looked like a zombie, all blank like there was nobody home. I couldn't wake you. What's that about?"

He is scared, Tony sees, and it makes him angry. Tony raises a hand to his head, but his fingers feel numb. "I drank too much, that's all. Help m-me to my b-bed."

He's just a kid so in the end Emile does as Tony asks, though Tony knows that Beatriz will be paying him a visit soon. He falls asleep immediately and when he awakens hours later, the sun is casting long shadows across his room. He can tell Beatriz has been there. His room has been tidied up; the guitar is sitting on the chair, a glass of water within reach.

Not sure what happened to him, Tony decides it might be related to the migraines he has been getting more frequently of late. Sometimes, when he has one, its as though his brain is working even when his body won't obey. But this…from what Emile was saying, it sounds more like he zoned out for a couple of minutes. No harm done. He'd have to apologize to the kid next time he sees him, for scaring him.

Tony is sitting out on the deck that evening when suddenly, without any warning, out of nowhere, he's hit by a blast of memories that tear through him, and they take his breath away as he relives his own personal inception, his genesis, his ground zero, in vivid, saturated Technicolor hues.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

The walls tilt as he goes down, hitting the floor hard. His head bounces and a spike of light shafts through his head. His eyes slam shut, just for a moment, and when he opens them he can see the shocked faces of Ziva and McGee. Their mouths are open, shouting something, but he can't hear anything except the loud pounding going on in his head.

Gibbs appears, blocking the overhead lights, asking questions that Tony can't answer because the pain in his head, behind his right eye, is blinding him and he is about to puke at any moment. And then he's being lifted and held close to Gibbs' chest and he can feel a button on Gibbs' suit pressing against his cheek. Tony catches the aroma of coffee and the sweet scent of the dark mahogany Gibbs has been using on his latest boat.

Gibbs lays Tony down, carefully pillowing his head, and Tony clutches at him in need. The agony doesn't recede but Tony manages to open his eyes, just a sliver, because he really needs to see Gibbs. Gibbs, worried, gently lifts his eyelids but even that is too much and Tony moans and moves his head to the side and brings up the contents of his stomach. It drenches the carpet next to his desk as well as Gibbs' pants. It's mostly water because Tony hasn't been able to face eating ever since…since…was there a shooting? "Shhhhot?" he whispers through numb lips.

"No, you haven't been shot," Gibbs assures him as he strokes his hair. "You'll be okay, Tony," he says, and Tony realizes he can hear, after all.

There's something he needs to say to Gibbs, and his lips move but his words are so soft that Gibbs can't hear him at first. Gibbs leans over and Tony tries again, mouthing, "Sorry," but it takes so much effort he starts to black out.

"Tony! Tony! Don't you…don't you do this! Where the hell's that ambulance?"

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Dances with Wolves_ (1990)  
>Kevin Costner, Robert Pastorelli<br>"I'll bet someone back east is going, "Now why don't he write?"


	6. Chapter 6

Note: This story is ten chapters, being posted one per day. Also, thank you everyone for being so enthusiastic about this story, for your comments and PMs. Coatfetish - I would reply to you but your settings don't allow for it.

**CHAPTER 6  
>THE DARK HOLE<strong>

_There's a deep dark hole and it leads to nowhere.  
><em>~ Los Lobos

He sees figures of doctors, and Ducky and Gibbs, and they're oddly out of focus and moving in slow motion. Gibbs, he sees Gibbs quite clearly, but what they're all doing to him makes no sense at all. Even their voices are distorted, pulling at sound waves like they're taffy with an underwater wha-wha-wha sound that resonates oddly in his head. It scares him because he believes they're real and then he's afraid he's hallucinating which is even more frightening.

He groans and pushes them away when they touch him, and suddenly they're gone. They come from a whole other time in his life, back when he used to be Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, a man who had a place in the world and knew where he belonged. But that's not how it is any more. He doesn't know, doesn't know _anything_ any more. This, right now – on this beach with the deep blue sea dead ahead, sparkling in the late afternoon sun – is his only reality, and knowing that's all there is makes Tony feel as though his entire life has been swept out from under him.

What he really needs right now is a DeLorean with a flux capacitor in its stainless steel body that improves the flux dispersal and, in turn, allows the vehicle smooth passage through the space-time continuum.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

The woman paramedic's fingers poked and prodded around the tender lump behind Tony's right ear. He did his best not to flinch but after one more poke he figured that enough was enough. He turned towards her enough that she stopped whatever she was doing back there. Tony smiled and asked, "Did I lose any hair?"

The young woman chuckled and replied, "No." There was only a small amount of blood on the gauze in her hand, which meant no stitches, no trip to the hospital, much to Tony's relief.

Gibbs came out of the house and gave Tony a once-over. His look of relief almost immediately changed to one of irritation. "How is he?"

"He'll live," the paramedic said and started packing up her equipment.

"Well, I've been hit harder, Boss, by you." Tony managed to grin even though he felt like shit and there was nothing remotely funny about the situation. Even if he got past the embarrassment of getting taken out by some unknown assailant – and he still couldn't understand how anyone could have snuck up on him in Gibbs' back yard – the boss would never forgive him for losing Franks. "Think Arkady Kobach snatched Franks?"

Gibbs' eyes grew dark. "You better hope not," he growled.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony's stomach churns, so badly he knows he's going to lose his lunch. He tries to figure it out anyway because the answers are important. _You gotta think ahead, DiNozzo._ He knows it's there, his past, his life, right _there_, just out of reach but he tries anyway. He stretches out his fingers to grasp it, and then, _just_ when he thinks he's got it…it's gone. Just…gone. He finds himself crying, "No, no!"

There is a pervasive feeling that _something is not right_. He's missing something important, but the harder he tries to unravel the mystery, the more his head hurts. The pain gets bad, like really bad, and Tony has to hide in a dark hole and wait out the white-light-throbbing-pointy dagger repeatedly stabbing his brain while he tries to remember how to breathe.

_"Something is not right, this thing is much more powerful than it should be."_

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony sniffed the air outside the house. It was that Mexican brand that Franks favored, so it was no big surprise to find the man under his protection sneaking a smoke like a teenager out back of the high school. "You're supposed to be inside the house, Mike."

"Nice catch. I must be getting sloppy."

"Well, I smelled the cigarette smoke." Before Tony could corral Franks back into the house and to safety, his cell rang. It was Gibbs, saying they had a security problem, time to go off-script. Tony looked around and called out to Mike, and next thing he knew, there was a terrible pain in his head and he fell, face down onto the bricks.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Someone rolled him over, none too gently. Tony found himself squinting up at the sky and wondering why his head hurt so much.

A looming figure got between him and the sun and slapped his cheek a couple of times. "DiNozzo! Tony? Hey, you with me, buddy? What happened? Where's Franks?"

"Emmons?" Tony croaked, fumbling for his gun. Jesus, just talking was splitting his head in two. "Where's Franks?"

"God damn it, DiNozzo, don't tell me you lost our witness."

Special Agent Emmons immediately searched the property with the two other NCIS agents on Mike Franks' protection detail but they came up empty. Emmons reluctantly called Gibbs, and then 911, in that order, which Tony would have found amusing if his head didn't feel like was it about to implode.

Tony struggled into a sitting position and got his act together enough to ask for a sit-rep.

Emmons was barely holding in his frustration. "It couldn't have been a minute after you got hit, 'cause I'd just looked out and saw Franks smoking."

Tony rose unsteadily to his feet, only to fall back onto the patio steps. Luckily he landed on his butt, thanking the higher powers that at least his team members hadn't been around to witness his failure. Shit, he'd had enough of their not-so-subtle sideways glances and snide remarks the past few months. Both Ziva and McGee had made it clear they thought their temporary boss was a poor stand-in for Gibbs, and they were relieved to have Gibbs back – in any shape or form.

They'd managed well enough on cases without Gibbs there to hold their hands – due a lot of hard work and some very late nights on Tony's part – but their lack of confidence because their leader had up and quit had undermined their ability to function well as a team. Tony had found himself questioning his ability to carry the load just about every day, and it was obvious that Ziva and Tim had been waiting for him to break.

Only Tony didn't break. He'd found new ways of getting them to work cohesively, toned down the "Hey, I'm just one of the guys" vibe and doled out commands and praise in equal parts. It had worked well enough that, after a few false starts, they retained their top solve rate. Hell, even Jenny had been impressed with their work. Only problem was that neither of Tony's teammates had been able to find it within themselves to accept Tony as team leader.

Well, now the prodigal Gibbs was back and everything was peachy.

Except that now that he had lost their witness, who was Gibbs' mentor and friend, Tony knew that his head was going to roll. If the Russians hurt Franks there was gonna be a big black mark on Tony's record. And forget about taking the job in Rota. Not that Tony had considered taking the position for more than a minute, because no way was he leaving Gibbs without someone to watch his back, not in the shape he was in.

Still, after everything he'd gone through in the past few months, knowing that the director believed he was right for the advancement was a huge boost to Tony's ego. As soon as they recovered Franks, he was going to talk to Jenny about the undercover operation they'd been working on to bring down la Grenouille. There had to be a more efficient way to get to the arms dealer than dating the man's estranged daughter.

Tony held his head in his hands and groaned. God, he hoped that when they found Mike Franks, he was still alive with all his parts intact.

"Let's get you inside, DiNozzo," Emmons suggested, one hand on Tony's back keeping him steady.

Somehow Tony found the strength and brainpower to reply, "If I puke all over Gibbs' new carpet he'll kill me." As soon as he said that, Tony realized he'd made a slip.

Emmons didn't ask how Tony knew the living room carpeting was new, and even if he had, no way was Tony going to tell the agent that he and Gibbs had lugged all Gibbs' furniture out of the way last weekend in order to clear the room for the carpet installers. The carpet was a nice shade of gray-blue, which Tony had told Gibbs. "Sorta reminds me of your eyes, Jethro."

Gibbs had shaken his head and grumbled under his breath, but the minute the door closed behind the last workman, he pushed an unresisting Tony down on the newly installed carpeting and kissed him silly.

_"Aren't you glad we went for the extra-thick padding underneath, Jethro?"_

_"I'm not the one who's gonna get rug burn on his ass."_

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Odd that he gets wound up over doing nothing all day. It used to be tranquil when he first got here, a refuge from the unknown. He would laze around with a drink in his hand, toes buried deep in the hot sand. He didn't have a care in the world. Now he feels like all that nothingness is putting pressure and more pressure on him, and it's squeezing him dry. It's Rhett Butler threatening to crush Scarlett's skull like a walnut, only worse, because Tony can't just say, "Take your hands off me, you drunken fool!" Something is about to explode and although he's been worried and unsure in varying degrees, now for the first time he's really scared.

Tony gets off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. The overhead light glares unforgivingly, revealing dark circles under his eyes that his deep tan does nothing to hide. He runs his fingers through his hair, which is getting too long, and across his unshaven jaw. He looks scruffy, like a pirate, like…like Gibbs. Next thing you know, he'll be living in a seaside shack drinking all afternoon and doing carpentry to while away the hours.

He turns his head so he can check out his reflection, to see the area that was shaved just over his right ear. The hair is growing back and it's not that noticeable, just a dime-sized spot, but Tony's all-too aware of it. He feels people staring at it, wondering what the scar is from. What can he say? That they drilled a borehole into his skull so they could stick this long needle in his brain? And how they kept the surgical wound open for days and he wasn't allowed to move his head while they poked around in there every four hours, like clockwork, to deliver medicine to break up the clot? How it had left him with mental and physical impediments, and how his career, his _life_ was ruined, all because of Mike _Fucking_ Franks?

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

While the paramedic packed up her bag, Gibbs leaned over stared into Tony's eyes. "How many were there?"

Although Tony felt guilty as hell for letting someone sneak up on him, he reported as evenly as if they were standing in the bullpen. "I didn't see. Came up real fast from behind. The rest of our guys deployed from the house in less than thirty seconds, but they were already gone." Whoever _they_ were.

Gibbs asked the obvious. "With Mike?" He lifted Tony's eyelids to check his pupils and seemed satisfied.

"There must have been two teams. One to take me down, and the other to snatch him. Whoever did it, they were good. Sorry, Boss. So why grab him when all they had to do was kill him?"

"He was holding evidence."

"Where?"

"He wouldn't tell me." Gibbs was annoyed.

Not thinking, Tony said, "Well, I guess you didn't hold a blowtorch to his eyeballs to find out. These guys will."

Gibbs glared at him but his phone rang and he turned away to answer it. "Yeah, Gibbs…Tell her I'm on my way."

Without thinking, Tony asked, "Jenny?" The minute he used the director's first name, he realized his mistake. Ever since Gibbs had left for Mexico, Tony had moved up in rank and also in Jenny Shepard's estimation, and there had been a few nights when they'd talked shop over a late dinner and drinks. Tony liked Jenny and found her attractive, but that was as far as it went. He knew full well that sleeping with the director of NCIS was not a good idea, and although they'd flirted, Jenny had made it clear she was more interested in Tony's skills as an undercover agent.

Gibbs narrows his eyes and asked in a dangerous tone, "Jenny? Just how cozy did you two get while I was away?"

Tony covered up his mistake with laughter. "Boy, that knock to the head must have been harder than I thought, 'cause I'm saying crazy things that I don't even understand!" He lifted his chin in the direction of the cute paramedic. "Do you think she's single?"

The woman giggled.

Gibbs assured her, "Oh yeah, he's fine."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony wakes up on the beach at dawn, coughing up seawater. He finds he's a couple of feet above the waterline, with no idea of how he got there. He's wearing swim trunks and his elbows and legs are scraped up pretty badly as though he's been tumbled by the waves. Lucky he wasn't swept out to sea. Or maybe not so lucky.

It seems he's further up the coast than he's ever been, where it narrows and meets the channel. There's nothing to be seen along the shoreline but scrubby trees and a million nesting birds that scream at him as he struggles to get to his feet. His heart is beating too fast, there's a constant thrum in his head, and all he wants is to lie down and sleep. Something tells him if he does that he'll die.

He has to walk for a long time to get back to his cottage, past some early morning joggers and a few fishermen. They nod in greeting but otherwise ignore him. He makes it to his bed, and falls into it still covered in sand. When Tony wakes up the sun is going down and, for no good reason, he covers his face with his hands and sobs as though he's lost his best friend.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_"You have time coming. Take it, Agent DiNozzo." _Jenny…Director Shepard, who offered him a position in Rota, a position he initially refused because of Gibbs. Because of _both of us_, he corrects himself. That much he remembers, that there was a _them_ involved, a Tony-and-Jethro them. But…something happened. Something gave him second thoughts that maybe he should take that job in Spain after all. Out of curiosity he looked into it and found the position was still open.

Tony walks the beach after the sun has gone down. The stars are out, brilliant, infinite points of light in an inky black sky.

That night, after they'd wrapped up the Arkady Kobach killing, and Mike Franks had skulked off without so much as a slap on his wrist even though he had lied and manipulated them to suit his own agenda, Tony went upstairs to talk to the director. He remembers that his head was splitting so bad the overhead lights were hurting his eyes. He'd taken three aspirins but they hadn't made much of a dent in the pain.

He knows that something happened before he went up to talk to Jenny. He…he did something else first. Tony sits with his fingers massaging his temples, ordering his brain to get back online, to think, _think_, dammit!

Gibbs…He'd just had it out with Gibbs about…about... They rarely quarreled but Tony had the distinct impression they'd had a big blowout while they were still in the office. Yeah, that was it, and Gibbs had ordered Tony to the elevator, but he had refused. They ended up in a secure conference room: no cameras, no one-way glass. Good thing it was soundproofed because…Tony remembers shouting back at Gibbs. But he would _never_ raise his voice to Gibbs.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony stood in front of Gibbs' desk. "Is that it?"

Gibbs had his reading glasses on, and with his longish gray hair and mustache he looked like someone's grandfather. Except when his eyes narrowed, Grandpa was gone and Gibbs immediately reverted to being Gibbs again, a rather pissed off Gibbs. "You expecting some kinda fanfare?"

"No, Boss. Not me. I wasn't even expecting an _apology_," retorted Tony, his words having more bite to them than he intended. Gibbs straightened in his chair, and behind him, Tony could feel his teammates tense up, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

"For what?" Gibbs demanded, not giving an inch.

Normally Tony would back off, or speak his mind in a neutral kind of way, but he'd never confront Gibbs. But now, with his every heartbeat pounding in his ears and a tight band of pain surrounding his head, caution was cast to the wind. He shook his head. "For _Franks_. Of course you don't believe in saying you're sorry. Makes it easy, doesn't it, Boss? That way you never have to own up to making any mistakes, never have to let your guard down, never have to let your blindly loyal people know you're not quite so infallible as you make yourself out to be. You–"

Gibbs stood, furious, and said in a menacing voice, "DiNozzo..." He looked towards the elevator, his metal box of an office. No way was Tony going to get trapped in there with an angry Gibbs.

"What? All of a sudden you want to talk about this?" Tony asked in disbelief.

"You're with me."

Instead of immediately obeying, Tony took his life in his hands. He leaned slightly forward and, with a 'make me' glare, replied, "No."

It had to be said that seeing Gibbs at a loss for words was an astonishing thing. Tony had never expected to see his boss with his mouth slightly open, his eyes momentarily widening, but for just a couple of seconds that was the result he got for talking back.

"No?" Gibbs asked, no less dangerous for being softly spoken.

"You want to ream me out, that's fine, but I've got a few things to say, too, Agent Gibbs. But that little elevator is just not going to do. You know what? There's a conference room upstairs that's empty. You'll love it, it's soundproofed," Tony said with far more confidence than he was feeling. In fact, he was just about trembling in his boots. Not that that stopped him from hoisting himself by his own petard. Turning on his heel, he calmly strode past his gaping teammates and headed up the staircase. He didn't have to look back to know that Gibbs was following him, at a distance.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony stops and stares at the ocean, not really seeing it, and as it comes back to him, what happened that night, the sound of the surf recedes and he's transported to Director Shepard's office. It's like he's actually standing there, it's so real. He's looking out her window at the lights of DC reflected on the river, yellows and reds rippling as a tugboat pulling a barge chugs on by.

Tony told the director he was getting nowhere with the arms dealer's daughter. "She doesn't talk to her dad. There is no relationship between them. Like none. It's a waste of time and manpower."

Jenny reasoned with and coerced Tony with her usual skill, but in the end Tony cut in, boldly and less respectful than usual. "Look, while Gibbs was away, this extra-curricular work was okay, but let's be realistic here: it was a long shot and it isn't panning out. There has to be another way. We can work on it together, bring the team in. Oh, and another thing, I want to be reconsidered for the Rota position."

He hadn't meant to say it like that and Jenny was almost as surprised as he was. They wrangled a bit and before long the director changed her tune, suggesting that Tony should stay and work under Gibbs. Tony got the impression she thought Gibbs needed a handler. He snorted at that. "I wouldn't worry. The old Gibbs is back."

But Tony stuck to his guns and all but demanded a chance to work in Spain, saying that this was the right move for him and for the agency. Eventually, after some bargaining, she agreed, saying it would be good to have someone she trusted situated in Europe. "All right, Agent DiNozzo, it's yours then. You can report to NCIS Rota any time in the next two weeks. I'll expect regular reports from you and I just may fly over for a visit as soon as you're settled there."

With relief tempered by trepidation, Tony said, "I only need a couple of days to tie things up here." He shook the director's hand and left, planning to head directly to his apartment because he needed to pack and arrange for the storage of his belongings. Only most of his stuff was at Gibbs' now. Shit. _Jethro_. He had to tell Jethro. No way was he going to leave the country, take this transfer, without telling his friends and co-workers and yes, his lover where he was going. Only Jethro was his ex-lover now, because it was painfully clear after this evening's fight there would be no reconciliation.

He had to face Jethro…_Gibbs_. He could do it. State the facts, Jack.

Tony remembered this. He remembered leaving the director's office and heading down the stairs, his stomach churning.

On his way down, Tony stumbled, but he recovered and stopped for a moment to rub his left leg. It was tingling and his knee felt funny, as if it had gone to sleep. Maybe he'd pulled a muscle or something. Shrugging it off, Tony descended the remainder of the steps and strode over to Gibbs, who was sitting at his desk with a tape recorder in front of him.

Gibbs looked up at Tony, his face a mask of stone.

Tony looked around but Ziva and McGee weren't within sight even though their computers were still running. He'd had enough of them the past four months. Their behavior towards him, their disrespect, their utter lack of faith…all added up to a good reason to move to another team. And Gibbs, he'd shown where his loyalty lay as soon as Mike Franks came to town.

Tony was sure that Gibbs' head injury and the trauma that resulted from it played a big part in this whole thing. Even though he was back at work and trying to act normally, Gibbs was still clinging to his past, to his girls and now his former boss. It looked like there was no room in Gibbs' life for Tony DiNozzo, that being companions and lovers, bedmates and friends, meant nothing to Gibbs any more.

Looking back, Tony doesn't know why he stood there acting as if, by some miracle, Gibbs would smile and everything would be all right again. Tony's father had accused him of being a dreamer when he was young, and never had it been so true as at that moment.

"They're picking up reports from Abby and Ducky," Gibbs said, his tone strictly business. Tony could tell he was still pissed at their confrontation and no doubt they'd have a round 2, but not tonight. He was bushed and couldn't face quarreling with Gibbs any more. They'd gone too far and Tony regretted it but he wouldn't take any of it back.

He had to look forward and now he'd accepted the job in Rota, things could only change for the better. It would be a good move, he told himself. It was a great opportunity, one that was practically handed to him on a platter. So why did he feel battered and utterly heartbroken?

He sat at his desk, wishing his headache would go away. There was an intense pain behind his eye now, and his left hand was trembling a little. That alone was scary. Tony was concerned it was blossoming into a full-fledged migraine but he had them so rarely that he didn't carry his meds with him. Please, let him make it home before it got too bad.

Tony remembers considering going down to Ducky, to con some medication out of him that would see him through the next couple of hours. He had quickly vetoed that idea because Ducky would have insisted on examining him and that would mean explaining what had brought on a migraine, and the whole mess would have come out. Instead, Tony had downed a couple of Advil with the remains of a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would take the edge off.

Ziva and McGee returned to their desks where they worked on their case reports, talking among themselves, sharing bits of information about the investigation, giving Tony a copy of the lab results to look over. McGee glanced at Tony and then Gibbs, and back at Tony, which meant he could feel the tension in the air but chose to keep quiet about it.

Tim or Ziva must have told Abby what had gone on between Tony and Franks, their alleyway altercation, and she sent a quick text to Tony asking if he was okay. He replied he'd be fine. Needed sleep. And an ice pack. She sent him one more text saying she'd take care of Franks, which Tony appreciated although he was certain that the ex-NCIS agent was long gone.

Ziva, who noticed Tony taking pain meds, tried in her own way to be sympathetic. "Mike Franks should not have hit you, Tony. If he were here now I would give him a piece of my brain."

"Your mind," Tim said without looking up from typing his report.

To show he accepted her gesture, Tony said, "He doesn't deserve a piece of your brain, Ziva. Unless it's Abby Normal's brain."

Ziva looked at him quizzically. "Abby who?"

Tony chuckled. "_Young Frankenstein_."

"Is this another movie reference, Tony?" Ziva shook her head as if sadly disappointed in her fellow agent.

"Of course it is. It's all about the _disfunctio cerebri_, the brain in the jar," Tony said, just to confuse matters. He thought about what his life would be like, without Ziva and McGee questioning his ability to do the job at every turn. He snorted. It could be good, a relief, that's what it would be. He'd start off his new job on the right foot, show them he was a good team leader, that he was a serious and efficient investigator. That having a sense of humor never hurt anyone.

His stomach was acting up so he opened a bottle of water and took a few sips. It was probably from all the tension, and the fight with Gibbs, and…well, he felt sick over the whole thing because even though he knew this was the right move, it was just starting to hit him that everything he and Jethro had built together was over. The love of his life no longer loved him. He risked a glance over at Gibbs and was surprised to see Gibbs was watching him. Gibbs wasn't frowning or glaring; he was looking at him and even from across the bullpen Tony could see…was that regret? Then Tim spoke and distracted Tony and the next time Tony looked in his boss's direction, he'd half-turned away, busy with filing paperwork in his drawer.

"What brain, Tony?" McGee sent a puzzled look in Tony's direction. "Wait, what are we talking about?"

Gibbs said sharply, without looking up, "We're not talking about anything except finishing up so we can get out of here by midnight, McGee."

Tony completed his report, printed the appropriate amount of copies, signed them and dropped them with a flourish on Gibbs' desk. He waited for Gibbs to meet his eyes, to see if he'd imagined that hint of remorse, but no, Gibbs looked at Tony with a slightly annoyed expression. "You want to say something, DiNozzo?"

"Nope. I don't have anything more to say…to you," Tony said with a blatantly false smile, even as something in his heart died. He returned to his desk, trying not to slam the drawer shut after he retrieved his firearm. It wasn't easy, but he could do it. Undercover was his middle name. All he had to do was put on his jacket, pick up his backpack and head for the elevator. He wouldn't look back. He would _not_ look back.

Tony said good night to the room in general, not looking at anyone, but he hadn't taken more than two steps when a shaft of pain zapped through his skull. He reached blindly for his desk to steady himself, but he missed. The walls tilted as he went down, hitting the floor hard.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Supernatural_ (2005)  
>Misha Collins as Castiel<br>"Something is not right, this thing is much more powerful than it should be."

_Back to the Future_ (1985)  
>Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd<br>"What he really needs right now is a DeLorean with a flux capacitor."

_Young Frankenstein_ (1974)  
>Gene Wilder, Marty Feldman<br>(The specimen jars on a shelf say 'Abnormal Brain', and 'Disfunctio Cerebri' which is Latin for dysfunctional brain.)

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Now that brain that you gave me. Was it Hans Delbruck's?  
>Igor: [pause] No.<br>Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Ah! Very good. Would you mind telling me whose brain I _did_ put in?  
>Igor: Then you won't be angry?<br>Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: I will _not_ be angry.  
>Igor: Abby someone.<br>Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: [pause] Abby someone. Abby who?  
>Igor: Abby...Normal.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7  
>FLYING HIGH<strong>

_Coragem: Spiritual strength to overcome a difficult circumstance. Perseverance in the face of difficulty._

Tony was sent home with a pile of medications and pages of instructions about dosages and potential side effects: fever, rashes, dizziness, disturbance in gait and coordination, fatigue, visual changes, suicidal thoughts and behavior, nausea, tremor, headache. As Tony had lost the ability to read, Jethro looked up every medication online and called Ducky for clarification on a couple of things. Tony was so woozy – he suspected it was due to that big yellow pill he took four times a day – that it got to the point where he really didn't care what the hell was going on.

They said he was one of the lucky few, that the procedure saved him from having his skull sawn open so they could rummage around in his gray matter (as if having a hole drilled into his head wasn't bad enough). His recovery time would be considerably shorter and easier because of the surgeon being able to inject medication directly into the clot.

He was a mess – zonked out of his mind and fucking depressed because if he bothered to open his mouth, he stuttered or slurred his words, and if he didn't speak he drooled. Watching TV hurt his eyes and listening to music hurt his head, and his entire body felt hot and scratchy and when he tried to describe what was happening to him, half the time Jethro couldn't understand what he was saying.

At one point, Tony started crying and couldn't stop, but after Jethro shouted at someone over the phone he sat next to Tony and rocked him like he was a baby. That only made Tony cry all the more. By the time Ducky arrived, armed with several new prescriptions including one he immediately injected into his thigh, Tony was worn out and they ended up carrying him to bed.

After a couple of days, Tony admitted that the new meds did make a difference. He no longer drooled all the time and now he only cried at night. When he remembered a line from _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_ – _'P-p-p-lease d-d-don't tell my m-m-m-mother.'_ – and he repeated it several times, Ducky looked so worried that Tony couldn't stop laughing, though eventually he did stop as he developed a pounding headache.

The medications didn't make Tony feel quite so spacey, and he was able to act as though he was feeling oh, so much better, and he smiled and nodded at the right times to indicate he was listening and yes, he understood, and yes, he was happy he was doing so well at physical therapy.

Jethro didn't buy any of it. He seemed suspicious of everything Tony did and said, which made Tony yank his chain by doing silly things like trying to drink peanut butter out of the jar and wearing his sneakers on his hands.

Even with all the miscommunication and meltdowns, and Tony being a pain because he felt like crap, at the end of the day Jethro would climb into bed with him. He'd stroke his hair, and tell Tony he loved him, which made bedtime the best part of Tony's day.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

He overheard them, Jethro and Ducky, talking in the kitchen. Actually, they were quarreling, Ducky's voice clipped and Jethro's growly.

"You should go back to work, Jethro."

"You know that's not happening."

"Tony can be left on his own now, surely."

"How can you say that? He's unsteady on his feet and can barely make it from one side of the room to another. He can't make any decisions for himself, and needs a watchdog to get him to eat and take his meds."

Jethro was digging in his heels. Even from the other room, Tony could tell that Ducky wasn't going to have an easy time of convincing Jethro of anything.

Ducky sounded affronted when he replied stiffly, "If you gave that young man half a chance, I believe he would be able to do all of those things, and probably a good deal more. With you molly-coddling him–"

"Well, I'm not taking that chance, not with Tony!"

"He is not as fragile as you make him out to be, Jethro."

"You're not a good judge of what Tony can and cannot do, Duck! Hell, he can't even take a shower without me," Jethro said loudly.

Tony smiled a little at that. At first he'd been too unsteady to shower alone, and when Jethro equipped the shower with a plastic bench and was going to leave him alone, Tony pretended to need assistance operating the faucet and he kept dropping the soap. Jethro ended up stripping down and joining him in the shower, and even if Tony felt a teensy bit guilty at being manipulative, the pleasure of being washed by Jethro (whose method was efficient yet sexy) overrode any guilt.

"He can barely talk," Jethro was saying. "And what happens if he's here alone and needs medical attention? What if he has a seizure when I'm not here and…" There was a pause and Jethro continued in a quieter, if no less terse, tone. "I'm scared, every damned minute of the day, that he'll collapse in front of me again, and that he'll have another clot, and that he'll lose more of his memory and forget who we all are. I can't…I can't let him go, Ducky, don't you understand?"

"My dear man, Tony is wearing a medical alert device, and has friends who are happy to help. Mr. Palmer has already offered to be here two days a week instead of taking his weekends off, to take care of Tony, to assist with his exercises, to take him to any appointments. The same with Abigail, and the director has gone so far as to agree to their schedules being altered as needed, for the time being. And as far as the likelihood of Tony having seizures, he may have one whether you are here or not. I know all of this is difficult for you, but if you do not loosen the noose a little, it will end up choking both of you. Come, let us have a cup of coffee, and see if your young man has finished watching his movie."

There was the sound of running water and the clinking of cups. Jethro said in a tired voice, "This is my fault."

"What is your fault?"

"I knew Mike Franks was likely to try something but I didn't warn Tony. I _assumed_ Tony would pick up on Mike's ways and counter him." He gave a dry laugh. "I thought Tony'd get a kick out of getting the better of him."

"You weren't to know the lengths to which Mr. Franks would go to, did you?"

"I _should_ have known. And then…I had a fight with Tony about it, back at the Yard. I protected Franks because I was his probie and that was my job, my instinct, but I did it at Tony's expense and there's no justification for that. I let Tony think I didn't care about him…I was such an idiot and then when Tony came down from seeing the director, I could see there was something wrong with him. He seemed off and I didn't say anything and then he…he just collapsed."

"Jethro…"

"No, don't you sympathize with me, Ducky. I don't deserve it."

"Perhaps not, but now you have the chance to make things right with Anthony. You might want to start by asking him if he wishes to return to his apartment."

"What the hell for? McGee brought all his things–"

"I have heard Tony ask you on more than one occasion when he is to return to his own place."

"His place is here. His home is _here_, with me."

"Nevertheless, I believe that Anthony feels a need to visit his apartment, and you need to _ask_ him what he wants. He needs to make decisions for himself. Perhaps with some guidance, a gentle hand to begin with," Ducky suggested. "You of all people should know what it's like after a head injury, how disconcerting it is when you cannot recall everything. If you remember, nobody could tell you what to do; you had to make your own decisions, come to your own conclusions at your own pace. What makes you think that Anthony is any different?"

"It's not the same," Jethro replied, sounding thoroughly pissed off.

Ducky did not seem at all fazed. "No? Now, let us see about the tea and put on a fresh pot of coffee, shall we?"

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"Found him!"

The rapping on the driver's side window made Tony flinch. It was only Jimmy. Tony rolled down the window and Jimmy said, "Hey, you okay in there?"

He'd located his Mustang convertible parked in Jethro's garage, sandwiched between Jethro's yellow Challenger and a seriously old push-lawnmower that looked like it was from the '50s. Tony had slid into the bucket seat, been disappointed when there was no key hidden on the visor, and stayed for a while to reminisce.

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Tony. He glanced back and caught sight of Gibbs, but before it even registered that they'd been looking for him, the man turned and headed back to the house.

"No reason. Just…we didn't know where you'd gotten to," Jimmy said casually. He went around to the passenger side and squeezed in, settling with a sigh of pleasure. "Nice ride, Tony."

Tony stared at his friend, wondering what was going on.

Jimmy belatedly asked, "Is it okay if I sit with you for a while?"

Short of bodily throwing him out there wasn't much Tony could do. He shrugged one shoulder. It didn't matter, he was about to go back in the house anyway. "Getting cold," he said, not to anyone in particular.

"I can get you a coat," offered Jimmy.

Tony shook his head; he didn't want a coat. Didn't want to talk, either. He just wanted to drive his car.

After a long moment of silence, Jimmy looked around and asked, "Is this a '66? Did you restore it at all?"

Tony shook his head again. Well, he had replaced some parts; the transmission was shot when he'd bought the Mustang from one of his frat brothers, but otherwise he'd left his baby in as much of her original condition as was possible.

"Agents Gibbs was saying maybe I could take you to your therapy tomorrow."

Tony's head came up when he heard that. "J-Jethro takes me."

"Well, they need him at work tomorrow so he asked me if I would take you."

"You have to work, too."

"Your appointment is early, and I'm working a later shift," Jimmy explained.

Tony looked over his shoulder at the house. He could see a corner of it through the open garage door. It was late afternoon but it got dark early so there were lights on in the kitchen. He pictured Jethro putting a couple of steaks in a dish to marinate them.

"Tony, is that okay with you?" Jimmy asked gently.

"Ducky told him to go back to work," Tony said, almost sadly, and then realized he'd just let on he'd been snooping. But Jimmy didn't know that. Jethro lived for his job and he'd given up a lot of his time to be with him. On one hand, Tony didn't want Jethro to go back to NCIS because that meant he'd be alone all day. On the other hand, hadn't he been itching for everyone to just go away and leave him alone? "I don't need to be babied," he blurted.

"Of course not, only…you can't drive right now and…"

Tony glared at Jimmy. "They t-took my driver's license away," he accused.

"I know, Tony, but–"

"They said I'm a d-danger to people and t-to myself because of my…" He couldn't find the right word and, frustrated, he smacked himself on the side of his head.

Immediately, Jimmy grabbed his arm and said in alarm, "No! Don't do that!" Tony's instinct was to struggle, to fight back but the concerned and compassionate look in Jimmy's eyes got through to him and he lowered his hand. Jimmy said in a soft voice, "Please do not hit yourself, Tony."

"Jethro hits me." More like taps, he thinks, only…"He doesn't do it any more though." Tony missed being able to go to work, missed everything that went with it: the social aspect, the bantering, the chance to interrogate suspects, and feeling that unique kind of high you can only get from bringing a case to a successful close.

"You're recuperating from a serious injury, Tony," Jimmy said with authority. "This is the time when you can take it easy and allow your friends to help you out. Then, when you get back on your feet, you'll be able to do more."

"Not d-drive." God, he'd almost cried when they told him that his license was being revoked until he was seizure-free for _two_ whole years. He loved his car, loved the freedom it gave him. Loved putting the top down, slipping a pair of cool sunglasses on and steering the Mustang along some rural road.

"I'm so sorry, Tony."

Tony nodded. Jimmy was a good friend and he meant well. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"T-tomorrow. You can s-s-swim with me," Tony ordered.

Jimmy smiled. "Sounds like a plan."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony rolled over, half asleep, and snuggled against the big warm man lying next to him in bed. It was early and the sky was just beginning to lighten a little over the bare trees. Jethro started stroking his shoulder and then his back with long, even strokes, and Tony wriggled even closer and began to rub his dick against Jethro's thigh.

Jethro's hand moved down to cup his ass and Tony moaned and jerked his hips a few times, trying to get more pressure, more of the friction he sorely needed. Jethro shifted in the bed so he faced Tony, and his hand slid from Tony's hip to fondle his balls through the flannel fabric of Tony's sleep pants. His fingers delved into Tony's pants and wrapped around his cock, slowly encouraging it to a semi-erect state.

They stopped long enough to shove their pants out of the way and Jethro reached for some lube and went back to work. He took a firm grip of Tony's shaft and ran his hand up and over the head, paused before he slid his fingers down to its base again. "You like that? Want more of it? That's right, it's good, I want to make you feel so good…"

When Jethro gripped Tony's cock at the base and rubbed his palm in circles over the head, Tony bucked and cried out, "Oh, oh, mo-more!"

Jethro alternated between stroking and palming and pumping Tony's dick until Tony was moaning non-stop and undulating his hips and that, in turn, got Jethro hot; his cock was hard and butted Tony's belly every time they came together and soon Jethro, who was usually pretty quiet during sex, was breathing heavily in Tony's ear and doing some moaning of his own.

Tony touched himself, only to find he wasn't even halfway erect. With a frustrated groan, Tony pushed his lover's hand out of the way and started jerking himself off. He worked damned hard, pulling out all the stops: the thumb over the slit, rubbing behind the head, twisting and caressing his shaft…to no avail.

"I missed you. Missed this…" Jethro was tugging lightly on Tony's balls, kissing him, sucking on his nipples, fingers rubbing back and forth from his perineum to the opening of his anus, while he rubbed his own rigid, leaking shaft against Tony's heated skin.

"I…I can't…" Tony's dick just wasn't cooperating and he found himself whining in frustration. "D-damn it, why won't…"

Jethro murmured, "Hey, it's okay, it's okay," but it wasn't.

Tony's dick was now overly sensitive and his poor excuse for an erection had flagged considerably. He was ready to cry over being unable to perform normally. Panting, Jethro stopped rubbing against Tony and kept assuring him it was okay and that it didn't matter, but Tony pushed at Jethro's chest and said angrily, "N-no it isn't fucking okay!"

Jethro looked startled but he hugged a slightly resistant Tony to him, kissing him until he calmed down.

In a small voice, Tony asked, "Can you f-fuck me?" because Jethro was still sporting a pretty impressive hard-on despite being interrupted and having an emotional lover with a flaccid dick in his hand.

With a soft sigh, Jethro said, "Maybe we should wait…"

"For what?" Tony grabbed Jethro's cock. It twitched in his rough grip and Jethro's breathing hitched. "Seems like you're r-ready to fuck."

"I can wait until…" Whatever he was going to say didn't come out of his mouth.

"Until y-you can find someone else?"

"Of course not! I want us to make love together, Tony. Look, you're on some pretty strong medications and…and I was reading that…"

"What?" Tony asked, annoyed and not feeling very good about himself, and hating that he couldn't give Jethro what he wanted.

"I read that having sex might trigger seizures," Jethro said reluctantly.

"Oh great, n-now I can't ev-ever have s-sex?"

"That's not what…Tony, you've only been out of the hospital for a short time and I think we should take it easy," said Jethro.

With a grunt, Tony pushed Jethro away and turned his back on him. "Fine." He heard Jethro sigh but he didn't say anything else. All the while they'd been touching each other, making love, Tony had felt almost normal. The effects of the medications hadn't felt so strong and, at times, he'd even forgotten how they made him feel sick and tired and like his head belonged to someone else. His hand brushed against his penis and he started to pump it, but after a few minutes it was painfully obvious he wasn't going to get anywhere.

Tony groaned in disappointment but Jethro moved close and hugged him from behind. Tony made a token effort to struggle but Jethro wasn't the kind of man to let things go so easily. He kissed Tony's neck and cheek and said, his voice low, "I know this is hard for you, and I don't know if this will make any difference in the way you feel right now, but please know that I love you. No matter what, I love you, Tony."

It took a moment for him to react, but Tony laid his hand on top of Jethro's arm where it was loose across his stomach, and whispered, "I know."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony thought about what he'd overheard. He thought about it until his head hurt. He forgot half of it, and then he put the remaining half out of his mind.

The good thing was that Jethro asked him a couple of days later, after Jimmy had left, if he'd like to go to his apartment at the weekend. Yes, he did. There were things he needed, but that wasn't the only reason Tony wanted to go back to his place. He wanted to because it was _his_ apartment, his alone, and he needed to be among his own things without anyone telling him what to do or how to do it. No timetables or pills or any of that shit. He simply needed the chance to get back some control in his life.

Tony could tell that Jethro was silently freaking out. It was the way he clenched his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders. Still, once they arrived there, Tony told Jethro he would be fine and closed the door on him. Two minutes after he was left alone, Tony pretty much forgot about everything except for his DVD collection. Tim had left it in a mess when he came over to pick out a bunch of movies to take over to Jethro's. The cases had been returned to the shelves where he kept them, but they were all out of order. It took Tony a while to get them arranged by genre, just as he liked, and when he was satisfied he watched the _Alien_ movies until he fell asleep on the couch.

The next day, the conversation between Ducky and Jethro came back to Tony, bits of it at first, and then more. It started him thinking about how and why he'd ended up like this, and what it meant as far as his future went. He needed people to look after him, he was a mess physically and he couldn't drive his car or hold a job, and that was just for starters.

And how long would it be before Jethro got tired of taking care of him? He didn't sign on for this, taking care of a handicapped person. Tony wouldn't blame Jethro if he got out of their relationship sometime soon. He laughed at that – relationship. Gone was their partnership, their sexual life, their future together. Now Jethro was merely his caretaker.

Jethro would be surprised at how well his brain actually worked, thought Tony. It might take him a little longer to sort things out but in the end he did, and taking everything he'd heard and remembered from the past few weeks into consideration, Tony came to the conclusion that Jethro was right. It _was_ Jethro's fault he had brain damage, even if indirectly.

Tony knew it wasn't as simple as that, but the idea that Jethro could have prevented this mess that had become his life gnawed at him. And the more he thought about it, how Jethro had chosen his old boss over him, and how he just let Franks get away with it, the angrier Tony got. Jethro might say he was no longer caught in the past, but getting his memory back didn't mean his fresh feelings of loss for his wife and little girl had diminished. Neither had his blind loyalty to Mike Franks, apparently.

Tony didn't like being angry, especially not with Jethro, but getting thrown under the bus disturbed him and it just wouldn't let him go. It chowed down on his brain, like a starving dog sinking his teeth into a really juicy T-bone.

The phone rang a few times that day but Tony didn't answer it, and eventually Abby showed up at the door, worried. She said that Gibbs was worried, too, although he wouldn't admit it. "Gibbs wanted to come but he promised you he'd leave you alone all weekend. Gibbs is a man of his word," Abby said brightly. She did, however, phone Gibbs to assure him Tony was fine, and after hanging up, she ordered pizza. Even though Tony valiantly tried to stay awake through the end of a movie, _Fight Club_, he soon gave up and they both went to bed early.

Tony missed not having Jethro in his bed but he was the one who had wanted to get away for the weekend. He knew he couldn't have it both ways.

In the morning Tony turned to Abby and said, "I n-need your help."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"They cleared me. They _said_ I could fly."

Tony knows now that he shouldn't have left DC without at least telling Jethro that he was leaving.

In addition, he probably shouldn't have taken any flight in his condition, but the doctors had said he _could_ fly if it was _absolutely_ necessary, but they'd _prefer_ if he didn't for another few weeks. Tony had only told Ducky the first part, without the inflections, and maybe he didn't say the 'absolutely necessary' part otherwise Ducky would have sedated him and carted him back to Gibbs.

He knows he and Jethro had a big fight at work – this was before he collapsed in the bullpen and ended up in the neuro ward – but they should have been able to work it out, whatever the problem was. Tony feels guilty, too, and he thinks he should have told Jethro about the undercover work he did for the director while Jethro was away, working on his tan and his memory on a beach in Baja.

Tony should have told him about Rota, although by now Jenny would have given Jethro the news. Only Tony doesn't think that Rota or any overseas assignment is in his future. In fact, he doesn't seem to have a future at all, unless sitting on a beach watching the waves roll in could be considered a future. Except…Jethro chose the same kind of retreat, didn't he? He struggled with his memories and made the decision to quit so he'd have time to have more time with the memories…or the lack of them. And he came back with most of his memories intact. The thoughts go around and around in circles, a dog chasing its tale.

Tony presses his fingertips to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut. Another headache is on its way, only this one feels strange, like his brain is sloshing around in a jar of formaldehyde. He's Abby Normal in a specimen jar. Tony Abnormal. Tony Disfunctio.

Now he wants that rewind button so he can talk to…talk to…He can see him but it's like there's a black hole in his mind and he can't find his name, and he grunts in frustration. Damn this is fucked up! It comes to him in a flash: _Gibbs_! God, why is it so fucking hard to pull up these bits and pieces of his life? _Gibbs_. He means something to him, a big something. He's important.

Don't forget his name again. Make his name your mantra. Gibbs, Gibbs, _Gibbs_.

_In death, a member of Project Mayhem has a name, his name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen..._

All of a sudden, Tony is convinced that they were wrong, the doctors and specialists, and that he shouldn't be taking it slow, shouldn't let his memory come back naturally, when and if it wants to. No, he _needs_ to push aside the big black cloud that obscures his sight. He has an overwhelming impression that he can physically reach in and grab hold of whatever is lurking back there, just beyond the edge. If he sees it, _touches_ it, maybe he can make sense of it. Tony pushes, just a little, fearful of what he might find, but it slips away once again.

He screams in frustration but there is nobody there to hear him.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Fight Club_ (1999)  
>Written by Chuck Palahniuk (novel)<br>Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Meat Loaf  
>"In death, a member of Project Mayhem has a name, his name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen. His name is Robert Paulsen..."<p>

_One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest _(1975)  
>Jack Nicholson, Brad Dourif<br>Billy: P-p-p-lease d-d-don't tell my m-m-m-mother.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8  
>DROWNING<strong>

I've been down one time  
>And I've been down two times<br>But right now I'm drowning  
>Drowning in the sea of love<br>I've been out here so very long  
>I done lost all my direction<br>Baby, when you came my way  
>Thought I had found my protection<br>But a strong wind came into my life  
>It surely took me by surprise<br>I can't seem to control these tears  
>That's falling from my eyes<p>

~ B.B. King - Drowning In The Sea Of Love

"You okay to work, Tony?" Gibbs asked, peering at Tony across the kitchen counter. "We gotta go soon." The NCIS agents who were on Franks' protective detail had just left and Tony and Gibbs were about to follow them to the Yard.

"Sure, I'm fine. You know me, every time someone knocks me over the head I bounce right back. I just need to take a leak," Tony said, needing a moment to escape Gibbs' scrutiny. He dropped the ice pack he'd been holding to his head in the sink and walked out of the kitchen.

Of course he wasn't fine. He was hurting, both from being bashed over the head by an unknown assailant and from falling face down onto the hard bricks of the patio. His shoulder ached, probably from the fall when he got knocked out.

While he was in the bathroom Tony explored his temple with careful fingers. Yup, another lump there, just beyond the hairline, and when he checked in the mirror he could see a scrape. He located the Advil he kept in the cabinet over the sink and downed a couple before heading out to join Gibbs.

When they were in the car, heading back to the Navy Yard, Tony commented, "Weird."

"What?"

"Being in our home and having to act like I didn't live there," Tony said in a quiet voice. He'd started calling it 'their home' recently; he'd practically been living there, returning to his own apartment less and less. "Good thing I put all the sex toys away this morning," he joked. Truth was, the fact that they'd been living together at Gibbs' house for months and nobody had seemed to notice made Tony wonder what kind of investigators they worked with.

"Good thing the Russians didn't put one in your skull, DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, not letting it go.

Tony liked that Jethro got all protective whenever he got hurt. "Well, I agree with you there, Boss. They probably didn't want to alert the other agents. It sounds like Emmons came out of the house just as I hit the dirt. Maybe he scared them off, so they didn't get a chance to finish the job."

"Yeah, well they managed to grab Mike without making any noise," Gibbs pointed out, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Damn it! We've got to find whatever hole those bastards are hiding in. Call McGee and get him to find something to go on!"

As soon as they arrived back at the bullpen Tony coordinated with McGee, tracking down Mike Franks and the Russians. For the next couple of hours, the team was busy following Arkady's and then Mike Franks' trail. By the time they found Franks' hotel room, it was starting to look like maybe Franks had been orchestrating the whole thing. One thing for sure, he wasn't being held by Arkady Kobach and his crew.

"You think Franks really has these files he says he has?" Tony asked Gibbs, cringing a little but knowing someone had to ask.

"He says he's got them," Gibbs replied, as if that was that and not to question him about it again.

Ziva was brave enough to ask, "Do you want us to assume that Franks was taken by the Russians until there is evidence that proves otherwise?"

Tony stared expectantly at Gibbs, wanting to know the answer to that as well, but all they got was a stone-faced Gibbs and an order to track Franks' calls.

Once Tony accepted that it was likely that Franks had been the one to knock him down, and he realized that Gibbs wasn't going to say anything about it, Tony's anger started to build. Not only had the former agent struck him over the head, but apparently he'd been jerking all of them around – all of them meaning NCIS and Homeland Security – for some personal vendetta against Arkady Kobach.

By the time McGee and Ziva worked their way around back of the hotel bar, and Gibbs slipped inside with Tony positioned securely on his six, Franks was already confronting the Russian arms dealer. Tony could hear the conversation but he was taken by surprise when the pop pop of small arms fire blasted from inside the bar.

Franks' voice, laconic as usual, said, "I knew he was over there. I figured I could take them both. Arkady first, then the big guy. Maybe I am a half a second slower."

Gibbs sounded pissed when he demanded, "There was no leak, was there?"

Deflecting, Franks asked, "DiNozzo okay?"

To prove he was okay, or at least alive with a big fat lump on the back of his head, Tony shouted, "Boss?"

"Clear!" Gibbs didn't turn to look at Tony when he barked the standard order, "Secure the room."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Gibbs' team bagged and tagged the evidence at the scene with their usual efficiency. They were halfway done when the director sent over a secondary team to get the job done faster. That was what Special Agent Emmons told Gibbs, anyway. Tony had a strong feeling the presence of Team B was to ensure that nobody – meaning Mike Franks – tampered with the evidence.

Gibbs silently fumed, though Tony wasn't sure if it was due to the implication that Director Shepard didn't trust them, or because Franks had used the NCIS agents, including Gibbs, to further his own agenda.

Tony never intended to confront Franks on the scene, but it just happened that on his way back from the NCIS truck, he spotted Gibbs' former boss in the alley behind the bar, smoking. Just the smell of the Mexican cigarettes was enough to make Tony feel sick, and his temper, which he'd held in check all afternoon, got the better of him.

Tony rushed at Franks and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, slamming him against the brick building. He heard a satisfying crunch and watched Franks' features scrunch up in pain. A second later, Tony was being shoved hard against the very same wall, as Franks turned the tables on him.

"You got something stuck in your craw, DiNozzo?" Franks snarled.

"Yeah. Yeah, I have, Franks. Like why the hell d'you think it's okay to hit an agent over the head? Huh? You think your old probie Gibbs is going to cover for you?"

"And you don't think he will?" demanded Franks with a rough kind of laugh.

That infuriated Tony more than ever. "You think you can do whatever the hell you want, don't you? You used us, used the agency and people who were on your side, to go off on your own mission. I get it: Arkady's the bad guy, the kind who never makes it to court. But you should have trusted us! We're a team and we're supposed to work together, not…" Suddenly a pain shot through Tony's head and he doubled over, one hand pressing his eye socket. "Damn it!" It gave him a small amount of relief, but when he felt a hand on his arm, he jerked back. It was Franks and Tony wanted nothing to do with the man. Shaking him off, Tony straightened and stepped back, saying tersely, "I woulda gone to bat for you. Any of us would've."

Franks was staring at him. "I didn't mean to hurt you–"

If that was an apology about to come out of Franks' mouth, Tony wanted none of it. Too little, too late. Instead of stepping back, Tony launched himself at Franks and his fist connected with the older man's face. He wanted to strike out again but people were pulling him back, shouting at him to cool off, and all of a sudden none of it mattered any more. Tony pulled his arms out of their grip – he saw it was Ziva and Gibbs who'd dragged him off Franks. "Let me go!"

Gibbs still had hold of Tony's arm and Tony had to say, "I'm fine, I'm fine," before Gibbs reluctantly released him.

"You sure?" Gibbs was eyeing him with concern, but Tony didn't want any of it right now.

"I'm going back to the Yard." He could see Jimmy and Ducky loading a body into their van.

"Don't drive–"

Tony said abruptly, "I'll go with Ducky," and walked away.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Doing nothing takes up a lot of time. Tony finds he needs a routine, if only to keep some kind of balance to his life, such as it is. He does a daily ritual, swimming in the perfect blue ocean until he's _this close_ to letting it all go, to letting the water suck him under and take him to a place where he can finally stop struggling. This time Tony barely makes it back to the beach. Exhausted, he drags himself across the cooling sand and heads back to his room, stumbling the last few feet. He drops naked onto his bed, panting heavily and trying not to think about how close it had been this time.

_I should have let go, floated, sunk to the bottom._

Even though he's more tired than he's ever been in his life, sleep proves to be elusive. Tony reaches blindly for the bottle of vodka, his own version of a bedside idol, and pours a tumbler full. Emile never brings him vodka any more but Tony has figured out a way of buying it. There's a shop down the road, the kind that sells newspapers and cigars and locally brewed beer. They also stock some hard liquor, including some decent vodka. He lets the old man behind the counter pick the correct amount of money out of his hand.

Propped up on pillows, Tony sips until the glass is empty and then he slides down in the cool sheets to lie flat on his back. _Arms out, palms down, breathe evenly, relax. _He forces his eyes to remain closed, no matter what visions come into his line of sight, and eventually succumbs to the pull of sleep.

He awakens in the night, drenched in sweat, with the taste of diesel fuel in his mouth. A large ship comes to mind, a freighter. The _Bakir Kamir_. A room drenched in blood and bits of burned human flesh. A mouthful of vodka chases the foul taste away but nothing can get rid of the picture of Gibbs, his skin badly burned, being carted away on a gurney.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

He's sitting on the beach, stretched out on a comfortable reclining beach chair that Emile procured, when a shadow slides by and somebody settles beside him. Tony closes his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge what he already knows. His lips move of their own accord and he whispers, "Abby."

She doesn't speak, which is unusual, but then nothing in his life, this new Tony-life that consists of troubled days and nights and ocean views with no end in sight, is exactly what he'd call normal. Tony averts his face and fumbles for his sunglasses. He's afraid to look at Abby in case she isn't the same person he pictures, and if she isn't the same, it will only confirm that he isn't Tony DiNozzo any more. He isn't sure that he can handle that because then who is he? He breathes in a ragged breath that sounds more like a sob.

Her hand is gentle on his arm, as if she's afraid he's going to jump, and he does flinch a little. She doesn't let go. Her touch has the desired effect and, against his will, he turns to look at her. He's wearing the sunglasses, and he's glad his eyes are hidden because the sight of Abby, dressed in black with her lace umbrella casting cobwebs of shadows across her vivid features, makes the world swim. His hand goes to his chest and he clutches at his shirt because his heart is beating too fast, and he realizes that tears are streaming down his face. When he speaks her name, "Ab-Abby," he stutters with disbelief even though he knew she'd be the one to find him.

"Oh, Tony…"

He's enveloped in a hug, a warm, soft, scented hug that reminds him of home and fills his heart with an unexpected feeling of longing that is almost painful.

Abby releases Tony but she clings to his hand as if she's afraid he'll take off before she gets a chance to tell him what she came for.

Time passes. He doesn't have a clue how long they've been sitting there but it must have been a while because the shadows are long and the breeze is coming off the land.

She must sense that now is the time, and she's right because soon, very soon, he has to swim and swim until he's exhausted and ready to sink into the dark, dark blue of the ocean. This time, _this time_, he thinks. This time he'll do it, he'll stop the pain and confusion and the not knowing what's going on with him.

"You've been here long enough, Tony," Abby says, her voice soft, like she's talking to someone on the edge.

She's right. He's been in this limbo for far too long. When he finally speaks to her it's surprisingly difficult. His voice is hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a very long time, which just might be the truth. He thinks back and remembers asking the boy to buy him some dinner, but that might have been days ago. "I can't…" He can't remember, can't _care_, can't stop trembling at the thought of going back there, to that place where he used to be someone else.

Removing his sunglasses, Tony rubs his eyes. He's so tired and he can't think straight with Abby looking at him with her big eyes. "I think I made a mistake," he says hesitantly. He risks a glance at Abby and finds she's watching him intently. "I think I got mad at Gibbs. Tell him I'm sorry?"

"You can tell him yourself. He'll understand."

Tony shakes his head. "No. I can't go back."

"Then go forward," she says with a wise nod.

"I don't know what the hell I'm doing, Abby. I don't think the answer is there."

Abby gently tells him that they _do_ need him, that he _does_ belong, that he _is_ the same Tony, even though he doesn't remember saying any of those things aloud. "And Gibbs has been driving everyone crazy, making us all gather around every morning. He says it's to go over the cases, to make sure we're all on the same page, but I know it's his way of doing a head count. Making sure nobody else is missing."

For the first time in a very long time, Tony smiles. "Campfires?"

Abby squeezes his arm. "Campfires. He's been doing his best to hold us all together, but he's been different ever since you left, Tony, like part of him is missing, too. He's so worried about you."

"I'm okay here," says Tony, lying unconvincingly.

"I had a feeling he wasn't going home at night and I followed him." Tony looks sideways at Abby and she says, nodding, "I was right. He didn't go to _his_ home. He went to _your_ home, Tony, and he's been sleeping there ever since you left. He's waiting for you to come back to him."

Tony stares at her, trying to picture the place she calls his home, but it seems so distant. That world is so far away and she's wrong because Jethro doesn't want him any more.

He doesn't think he spoke aloud but Abby looks him in the eye and says, "Then maybe you need to open your eyes, Tony, and your heart, because he really needs you. Now more than ever."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

He dreams, as the water flows over his head and he sinks to the bottom. He dreams of people and places that fill him with sadness, even though there were plenty of happy times. But his head hurts and he can't breathe, and he stiffens and thrashes about until suddenly, with no warning, it goes black.

"Tony…It's okay. I'm right here."

"Ab…Abby?"

"Abby isn't here."

"Wha'?"

"It's me. Jethro."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9  
>DEEP WATER<strong>

_Well, me don't swim too tough so me don't go in water too deep.  
><em>~ Bob Marley

"It's me. Jethro." The voice is soft, not sounding at all like Jethro.

"Jeth'o?" Tony asks, just to make sure.

"Yep. I'm here now."

There's a cool cloth on his forehead, over his eyes. He tries to push it off but he can't even raise his arms. "Head. Hurts," he says, only it comes out more like, "'ed urz." His lips feel numb. The cloth is removed and now he can see that it really is Jethro. The feeling of relief is enormous. Tony wants to ask why he's here but what comes out is, "Where's Abby?"

After making an attempt to sit up, Tony falls back with a groan. It's as if his body belongs to someone else; his hands feel thick as though his fingers are inflated and his legs won't obey his commands. Tony grits his teeth and makes a valiant attempt to roll over but he fails at that, too. That's when he realizes he's on the floor, his feet tangled in blanket and a pillow tucked under his head. Tony swallows and takes a few breaths and finds that although his whole body aches so badly – muscles, joints, even his eyeballs – it feels like he's been beaten up. "I don'…don't understand."

"You must have dreamed she was here. She's back home," Jethro explains, placing a hand on Tony's chest with just enough pressure to keep him still.

A look of worry on Jethro's face deepens when Tony groans and clutches at a sudden pain his lower ribs. "Ca-can't…breathe."

"It's muscle spasms. Take small breaths," Jethro coaches.

Jethro is breathing in time with him and Tony realizes he is scared, too. He does as he is told and the pain slowly recedes. Tony becomes aware that Jethro is sitting next to him on the floor, talking earnestly on the phone. He is holding several pills containers in one hand and squinting at their labels as he reads the names of the medications aloud. "You want me to count them? They all look full except for ibuprofen and this one…uh…Fioricet…it says for migraine? No, damn it, they're all full." Jethro leans over Tony and asks, "Have you been taking your medications?"

Tony swallows and he shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"No, he hasn't been taking them," Jethro says. Clearly, he's angry. All this time he's holding onto Tony's hand while he juggles the pills and the phone, but when Tony tries to withdraw his hand, Jethro gives it a squeeze and smiles reassuringly down at him. "Yeah. Yeah, I got that, Ducky. The ambulance is on the way…"

As soon as Tony hears that, he struggles to get up, to prove that he's fine. "No," he says insistently in a croaky voice. The pain in his ribs magnifies and he clutches at Gibbs, trying to let him know he can't breathe. It's agony and he's gasping and making these high-pitched sounds as the edges of his vision go dark.

Jethro drops the phone and drags Tony into a sitting position, getting behind him so he can hold him securely. It helps a bit and Tony doesn't have to fight quite so hard for every breath, but he doesn't feel right and he's on the edge of panic, scared he's going to suffocate, and he realizes he doesn't want to give up and sink into the dark ocean depths.

Tony knows that something is very wrong and it feels like his head is going to explode at any minute. He thinks he's having a stroke. The room is undulating as if he's way underwater and he manages to gasp, "'m dying," before he starts making choking sounds. Then his legs start to jerk and he stiffens, and in the split second before everything stops he sees Gibbs clearly, his blue eyes dark and anguished, and Tony hears his name being spoken again and again as the water closes in over his head.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

It takes a long while for Tony's to brain switch on after he wakes up, and just as the light bulb goes on he falls asleep again. It's light outside when he wakes up from a dream, or maybe he's asleep and dreaming that he's awake…

"You're awake."

It's too difficult to think, much less reply.

"Tony?"

Jethro's face appears and when Tony blinks and licks his lips, Jethro smiles. He looks so relieved that Tony asks, "Wha's matter? I die or somethin'?"

The smile fades for a moment and Jethro shakes his head. His hand is warm against Tony's cheek. "No," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "You're alive and you're gonna be okay."

"Wha' h'p'n?"

"You had a seizure. Doc thinks you've been having them for a while," Jethro says, sounding angry.

"A while?" Tony looks around to get his bearings and finds there are a lot of wires sprouting from beneath the hospital gown, and even a tube or two. He tugs at one, which does nothing but cause a sharp pain in his dick, and immediately Jethro tells him not to, and moves his hand to his side.

Jethro says, "The people at your motel, the kid…"

"Emile," Tony says in a whisper.

"Yeah. They said you'd been acting strangely, had these moments where it was like you weren't…there."

"I wasn't."

Jethro looks at him oddly. "Where were you then?"

Tony shakes his head, tired of questions. "Drowning."

"You're not drowning, Tony," Jethro says sharply. Tony can tell he's upset but he can't find the strength to explain.

Next time Tony wakes up he feels a lot better although his muscles still ache. Jethro isn't around but a nurse is. She replenishes one of several IV bags hanging at the bedside, cleans him up, and supports his head when he asks for a drink. "Dr. Schwartz will be in with the results of your tests as soon as they come in," she tells him as if it's something to celebrate. Turns out they did the tests, including an MRI, when he first came in and he's glad he was out cold through them all.

The aroma of coffee precedes Jethro's arrival. As soon as he sees Tony half-sitting up and, apparently a lot more bright-eyed and bushy-tailed than the last time he was awake, Jethro smiles, obviously relieved. He pulls up a chair and, when Tony asks, tells him everything that has occurred in the past 24 hours: arriving at Tony's cottage only to find him convulsing on the floor, and then, after Jethro thought the seizure was over, Tony had another one. "It was pretty bad." The ambulance, hospital, the ER and tests and more seizures but "they finally got them under control."

The pained expression on Jethro's face convinces Tony he doesn't want to know any more details. "Why'd you c-come?"

Jethro stares at Tony as if he thinks he is crazy. "Ducky told me where you'd gone and I figured you needed some time, but after a few weeks…I was worried, the way you left and…things we said to each other…"

_"You go to hell, Tony!"_

"You didn't want me any more," Tony says, taken aback by the sudden realization.

_"You know what? I'd gladly go to hell if it means I won't have to be anywhere near you and your precious Mike Franks!"_

Jethro looks shocked. "What?" Then he must remember what he'd said because a flush rises to his cheeks and he runs his hand though his hair. "Look, Tony, back there…I didn't mean–"

Tony cut in, not wanting to hear any excuses. "H-how long've I been here?"

Jethro collects himself and says, "Four weeks. It's December 10th."

"I thought it was…maybe t-two weeks." How had he lost so much time?

After a protracted silence, Jethro accuses, "You didn't take any of your medications, Tony."

With a dismissive motion, Tony turns away. He doesn't have the energy or will to explain. After a while he turns his head on the pillow to find Jethro watching him, not with anger, but with deep concern, and immediately Tony is remorseful. "I didn't mean to m-make you worried. It's just that I…I h-hate wh-what the pills d-d-do to m-me and I feel like I'm g-gone and I–" He ends up gasping for breath and immediately Jethro leaning over the bed, calming him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, I get it," says Jethro. "After your surgery, when you were on all those medications, you were like a…" Jethro searches for the right word.

"Zombie? Walking dead man? Reanimated c-corpse without any ani-animation?" Tony says with a weak smile.

"Yeah, one of those. I knew you were in there somewhere, Tony, but some days, I didn't think I'd ever see the real you again."

Now Jethro looks sad but Tony doesn't have it within him to do anything about it. He agrees, "I was a m-mess. Couldn't hardly w-walk. No brain activity, ya know?"

"You managed to travel, to get here on your own though," Jethro accuses. "You shoulda told me."

"I needed t-to do it." On his own, Tony thinks.

"That all you gonna say?"

Jethro wants an explanation but Tony isn't ready to lay out all his fears and jealousy and hurt feelings for the world to see. "I didn't want to be a b-burden," he gets out, figuring that will be enough.

"Damn it, Tony! You're not–"

The doctor chooses that moment to enter and introduces himself as Dr. Schwartz. He doesn't seem to feel the tension in the air, and apparently he is inured to Jethro's glare, which Tony finds amusing. The first order of business is for the doc to scold Tony for not taking his prescribed medications.

"Looks like you've been having migraines." The doctor quizzes Tony about his migraine history and their frequency (maybe one every six months until Franks hit him over the head), if he experiences auras (yeah, sometimes flickering lights, distortions, feeling numb on one side of his face), and if he takes the migraine medication as soon as he feels one coming on (sometimes he waits in the hope the migraine will go away because even half a dose makes him sleepy).

"Think I h-have one every day," Tony finally admits. "Hard to keep t-track of these things."

After talking to Tony for a while, Dr. Schwartz, who proves to be a lot kinder and more straightforward than Tony expected, says, "Tony, I want to give you another migraine medication, in smaller doses and more frequently as a preventative. There is a slight chance that these migraines of yours are triggering seizures. Or it's possible that you were having small seizures and not migraines at all."

"S-seizures?" Hearing the doctor tell him he's probably been having them suddenly makes it all too real, and frightening.

"Are you not aware you're having them?"

Tony raises his hands to his head and avoids Jethro's concerned look. "I..I d-don't know. I had headaches…migraines."

"You lose time? Maybe wake up somewhere unexpected?"

Dr. Schwartz's eyes flick up to the monitors and Tony realizes the beeping has increased. The doc reaches over and turns the sound off, which is good.

Tony nods and admits, "Coupla times." Jethro is staring at him as if he knows Tony is lying, so Tony says in a small voice, "Maybe more. Like when my head hurt?"

Dr. Schwartz asks, "So if you had a migraine every day, you're saying you lost time every day, in conjunction with the head pain and other symptoms associated with a migraine? And all this time you only took small doses of the migraine medication and some pain relief?"

"I guess." Tony glances up at Jethro and figures he may as well confess all. "I was…drinking, too."

"Tony…"

"A lot," Tony whispers.

"Jesus!"

"Well you don't know wh-what it's like t-taking those f-fucking seizure pills, Jethro!"

Jethro stares at him for a long moment and then says, as if deeply disappointed, "I know exactly what it's like. I've seen what you go through when you _don't_ take them, Tony."

Dr. Schwartz tells Tony in a stern voice that giving up his anti-seizure and other medications cold turkey was _not_ a good move. Actually, what he says is, "Stupid move, Tony, but I suspect you know that by now."

Tony doesn't have to look at Jethro to know he agrees and even approves of the doctor by this point. "I wasn't…right. It was like I wasn't there. Made me sick and…"

Jethro speaks up, agreeing that Tony was drugged to the gills and even after a week the side effects hadn't lessened, as they'd been told they would. "I could see he was struggling, but I thought he could tough it out." Jethro talks as though he is somehow responsible for Tony not taking his meds and for running off.

"He needs better monitoring." Schwartz explains, "After the injury you sustained, and the surgery, it appears that you are still prone to post-traumatic seizures even though they successfully treated the clot with tPA. The fact that you didn't have any episodes when you were _on_ medication, and they occurred with increasing frequency after you reduced the dosage of the antiepileptic drugs, tells me you need to be back on them."

"No!" Tony shakes his head and says, "Nooo," but the doctor pulls up a chair and looks him in the eye. He says gently, "I understand that the side effects were a big issue. Normally the side effects of AEDs improve within a week. However, we can adjust the meds to minimize the side effects but still provide an adequate amount of medication. You need to be patient. Withdrawal of any of your medications must be tapered off slowly and under guidance. You stop taking them abruptly and there's a whole slew of side effects you won't want: more seizures, hallucinations, confusion, anxiety, depression. We don't want that to happen to you, Tony. We will get you to a good place, okay?"

Tony nods but he thinks, 'Too late,' because he's pretty much had every side effect the doc has just listed.

Something of what he's thinking must show because the doc's eyes sharpen and he lays his hand on Tony's arm. "You want to talk about it?"

Tony looks into his eyes for a minute before he replies, "I'm okay."

The doctor slowly nods and pats Tony's arm before standing.

"I'll make sure he follows orders," says Jethro.

Dr. Schwartz says he'll send Tony's records to his doctors in DC, as well as to Dr. Mallard, but by that time Tony isn't listening. He's watching Jethro. He stands by his bedside in his proud, Marine stance, and Tony can't help but wonder why Jethro has chosen to be his champion.

A few days later, with a set of new medications in hand, Tony is released 'from custody' as he puts it. He hasn't had any more seizures and he doesn't feel so bad, so maybe Dr. Schwartz was an okay guy after all.

Jethro takes him back to the Wayfarer Motel & Cottages, and Beatriz and Emile hover anxiously and bring them food and offer to help any way they can, but pretty much all Tony does is sleep so Jethro shoos them away.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

"You awake?"

"No. G-go 'way."

"Not gonna happen, Tony."

Tony looks over his shoulder, and when it's obvious that Jethro isn't going away – because he's holding a glass of water and a little plastic cup of pills – Tony sighs and sits up. "Oh, all right." He hasn't had any more seizures and the follow-up tests Dr. Schwartz made him take show he's had no new bleeds inside his skull, which is what Tony's been most worried about. No need to drill any more holes in his head, that's a big plus.

Jethro's brow creases with annoyance. "You're not going to fight me on this every time, are you?"

Tony tries to smile but it's a feeble attempt and when he tries to say something clever the words falter before they ever pass his lips. He says in a slightly shaky voice, "No, I'm not going to f-fight you. I…I don't want to be angry at you any more. Can we…s-start over?"

"I don't want to fight, either," Jethro says, looking relieved. He sits on the bed facing Tony and hands him the water glass.

"These the new ones?"

"Yeah. The doc says the doses have to be high to start with, and as soon as we get back, and you get checked out, Dr. Cooper'll talk to you about reducing them. You'll be on a strict schedule, and we're gonna keep to it this time. And you're gonna tell me if you feel anything unusual, any side effects and–"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony says tiredly.

"Hey! I mean it."

Tony nods and gives in. "I know. It's okay. I learned my lesson." Jethro doesn't look convinced so Tony offers him a smile and takes the pills, one at a time, from Jethro's outstretched palm. When he's swallowed them all, even the horse pill that is hard to get down, Tony returns the empty glass. They're going to make him feel sleepy soon after he takes them but the new prescriptions are supposed to be gentler on his system.

Jethro touches his leg and says quietly, "We'll talk when you wake up."

Jethro has been touching him a lot the past few days, as if he's afraid Tony isn't really there or something. Tony likes it though. He smiles as he gets comfortable. Jethro wants to _talk_.

When Jethro comes back to check on Tony, he's awake but a bit groggy. The patio doors are open and the long shadows tell him it's late afternoon. There's a folding beach chair with a book on it, not far from the door, and when Tony takes a good look at Jethro, he can see he's sporting a slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose. It reminds him of when Jethro came back from Mexico. God, was that only a couple of months ago? It feels more like it's been a lot longer. Tony likes Cypress Bay but he really wants to get cleared to go home as soon as possible.

"Feeling any better?" Jethro sits on the edge of the bed. He pushes Tony's long hair off his forehead and checks his temperature with the back of his hand.

Much as he doesn't like to admit how lousy the anti-convulsion medications make him feel sometimes, Tony knows that Jethro cares about his wellbeing. "Yeah. Not so much like I'm underwater with a squishy brain. You ever have that c-cocktail, The Brain?"

Jethro shakes his head slightly, amused.

"Shot glass of schnapps. Pour B-Bailey's into it, over the b-back of a spoon. Looks like a brain in formaldehyde."

"You learn that in college?" Jethro asks with a gentle smile.

Sometimes Jethro is so nice to him, too nice, and although Tony knows it's coming from a good place, it's not the Jethro he knows. But then he thinks that maybe this is the real Jethro, the man who is the flip side of Gibbs, the sweet side at odds with the gruff. And he thinks he's in love with him, with both of them, and he wants to let Jethro/Gibbs know but it's as though his mouth won't work, and the more he wants to say something, the harder it is.

Jethro looks at him quizzically. "You okay there?"

Tony nods but he's suddenly overwhelmed by emotions, by anxiety and…he's feeling sort of sad and he doesn't know why, and now he can't open his mouth for fear he'll start bawling like a baby.

Jethro moves a little closer. "I know you've been having a tough time, Tony, and it's not easy asking for help, but you know I'm here for you, right? You can come to me with anything. I'm on your six, buddy."

"I…" he says on a breath.

"What is it, Tony?"

Impulsively, Tony says, "I love you so much and I d-don't know how to say it."

"C'mere you." Jethro reaches out and Tony wraps his arms around Jethro's neck and they hug each other like they're never going to let go. Jethro chuckles and says in Tony's ear, "I think you just said it fine." He kisses Tony and when he's done he says softly, "You scared me for a moment there."

"I'm sorry," Tony says, meaning it.

They hold each other for a while and eventually Tony sniffs. Jethro reaches for a box of tissues on the bedside table and hands him a bunch. After Tony's blown his nose, he tosses the tissues aside and lies back against his pillows. "What were we fighting about? At work, that day…"

"You don't remember?"

Tony shrugs. "Some. I got the gist of it. I w-want to know more."

Jethro is flushing, which surprises Tony. "You asking me to supply you with the details?"

"Yeah, I think I am." He has a feeling he accused Jethro of avoiding apologizing because he didn't want to be perceived as being at fault. Tony wonders why it is so difficult for some people to say they're sorry. He finds he feels good afterwards, and even if the act of apologizing can be embarrassing, being the one to offer an olive branch brings its own reward.

Gibbs' rule about not apologizing is different from saying sorry for a personal wrong. Rule #6 is about so much more than not showing weakness; it's about fixing your own mistakes instead of apologizing, which takes you to rule #45: Clean up your own mess.

And Tony knows that he has a bit of a mess to clean up.

Even though he looks a bit uncomfortable, Jethro asks, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Things have been coming back to Tony over the past few days, sort of creeping in on the sly ever since he's been on this new regimen of medication. But he needs to know more, needs confirmation. Tony starts the ball rolling by saying, "After Franks killed Kobach, I c-confronted him in the alleyway. I wanted to know why he'd screwed us over, used us to get Kobach when we c-could have worked together on it. I guess we p-pushed each other around a bit. Would've got worse if you hadn't interfered."

When Tony glances at Jethro he sees his eyes harden. Jethro says, "Yeah, well, I think by that point we all had an idea of what was really going on."

"Franks p-played us," Tony affirms. "But what I don't get, Jethro, is why the m-minute that man turned up, you turned into his boot-licking p-probie." That gets Jethro pissed off, but Tony sits up and says, "You let Franks use you, use all of us. You, of all p-people, should have known the lengths he'd go to in order to win h-his damned vendetta."

"I never played Franks' game, Tony, not intentionally. Hell, he even complained I was the director's lap dog when I questioned him."

"But you played your own game, with me as the p-pawn," Tony says, trying to contain his anger. "You let F-franks insult me in the bullpen, and you let him th-think I was a piss-poor excuse for an agent, never said a word in my defense. And then you w-went and put me on his p-protection detail anyway. You knew Franks would make a move but you didn't w-warn me, Boss." He rubs his mouth, as if that will stop the damned stuttering that comes back as soon as his temper gets the better of him. "Fuck!"

"I never thought he'd sandbag you, Tony!"

"You s-set me up! He thought he could get away with anything on my watch! You _knew_ what he was gonna do but you s-still had me play watchdog – and see what it got me!" Tony's hand goes to the right side of his head, above his ear, where it's still tender. He flinches at his own touch, but he is so riled up he doesn't care about a little pain. "I'm never going to g-get better, Jethro! My vision's still off in my right eye, my whole left side is weak and I can't tell a five-dollar bill from a twenty, or make any f-fucking choices when I look at a menu. Do you have any…any…any idea what he _did_ to me? Does _he_? I'm n-never going to get my job back. And f-forget about my career! I-I was going to _Rota_, did you know that?" Even through his anger Tony can see that Jethro already knows about his impending transfer.

Jethro takes Tony's arms, which Tony belatedly realizes he's been waving about. He doesn't want Jethro touching him and he wards him off.

Jethro releases Tony's arms and pleads, "Listen to me. Listen, Tony."

Tony looks away, hating that he wants to obey Jethro.

"Tony…please." He takes hold of Tony's hand even though Tony resists him.

Breathing between his teeth, Tony stifles his irritation and eventually calms down. When he glances at Jethro, he's waiting patiently with that worried look on his face once again. Tony snatches his hand away and crosses his arm. "You're supposed t-to be on _my_ side."

"I know. I let you down and I was wrong," Jethro says, looking straight at him. "But you're wrong, too. I put you on Frank's security detail because I knew, of all people, you'd never fall for his tricks. I trusted you to rein him in, to keep him in one place while the rest of us figured out where Kobach had gone to ground. I believed in you, Tony, and I still do."

Tony blinks at Jethro a few times, taking it all in, and he asks in a subdued voice, "You do?"

Jethro smiles ruefully. "Of course I do. Damn it, I never thought he'd hurt you. You think if I'd been there, I wouldn't have killed him? What he did that day…" Jethro stops and shakes his head, saying under his breath, "No way was he getting away with that."

"Wait…You didn't let it go, did you?" Tony asks slowly, staring at Jethro. "You w-went after him."

It's Jethro's turn to look away. "After you were in the hospital, when they were operating on you, I couldn't just sit there and wait. I got…angry. Really angry. I found Franks, still at the airport. I…uh…roughed him up a bit." He rubs the knuckles on his right hand in what looks like an unconscious act.

For the first time, Tony notices the pink scars across the knuckles. He takes hold of Jethro's hand and Jethro tries to pull away. Their roles reversed, Tony won't let go. He rubs his fingers lightly across the damaged knuckles, which are slightly enlarged from arthritis. "You did that for me?"

Jethro snorts and says, with a touch of sarcasm, "No, I did it for me."

Tony can see he means it though. After all, Jethro is no stranger to revenge, any more than Franks is, although Mike Franks was so intent upon killing Kobach, the man who'd murdered countless law enforcement people, that he didn't have any qualms at knocking down Tony when he got in his way.

They were quiet for a while, and then Tony asked, "You didn't d-damage him too badly, did you?"

A brief wince flashes across Jethro's face before he covers it up by a mask of indifference. "Might of broken his jaw," he says casually.

Tony raises Jethro's hand to his mouth and kisses the battle-scarred knuckles. "Good."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you, everyone, for reading and commenting on my story. I love the reactions and of course your comments make me want to write more fanfic. There is no shortage of ideas running through my mind - the trick is to figure out which are worth pursuing. Thanks again!

**CHAPTER 10  
>PULLING UP ANCHOR<strong>

Take my past and take my sins  
>Like an empty sail takes the wind<br>And heal.  
>~ Tom Odell, 'Heal' lyrics<p>

It isn't until a week later, after shutting the front door on the last of their visitors – Abby doesn't always know when she's worn out her welcome but she means well – that Tony and Jethro sit down with a sigh. "Home," says Tony.

He's glad he had the chance to say goodbye to Beatriz and Emile, even though it turned out to be somewhat emotional. He gave the kid the old guitar and you'd've thought it was a Stratocaster, the way he beamed at the gift. Beatriz was all big hugs and well-wishes and Tony assured her they'd come back some day.

"Good to be back," says Tony. Last time he was here, he overheard Ducky telling Jethro that he needed to get back to work, and to let Tony have some control over his own life. That didn't turn out very well, Tony thinks, recalling his rush to get out of DC and ending up on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

Jethro must have been thinking the same thing because he asks, "You want to tell me why you left, Tony? Without even telling me?"

Tony shrugs, uncomfortable with the subject. "Guess I got tired of doin' nothing but puking and sleeping." Two weeks after being released from the hospital, doped up and seeing little-to-no progress, he had just wanted out. "I n-needed to get away." Only the further he went from Jethro, the worse things got.

"You have any clue," Jethro demands, "how worried I was when I found out you were gone? You'd just had surgery, Tony."

Tony shakes his head as an indication of how helpless he feels. Not that he doesn't understand how worried Jethro was, because he can see it in Jethro's face, and thinks he's the cause of some new worry lines on his forehead. It isn't easy to find the words to explain the uncertainty and anger that made it seem necessary to flee. Only maybe Jethro _does_ understand. After all, he went through the same thing after he woke up from that coma a few months ago.

"I didn't mean to yell at you." Jethro rubs Tony between his shoulders, meantime watching him with concern. "I don't understand. You were doing okay at home. Weren't you? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, but I heard you and Ducky t-talking, in your kitchen."

Jethro is frowning, trying to figure out what Tony's talking about, so Tony says, "About our quarrel, and about F-Franks, and how you were s-scared I'd have another seizure, and you let him g-get away, and it made me really m-mad at you."

Jethro's face falls. "Tony, I don't know why Franks thought he could deal with Kobach on his own. He used us. And I let him. I regret that you got caught in the middle of it, that you got hurt. You'll never know how much. But now we have to deal with it. We gotta stop running away when things get tough."

Tony sums it up with. "You to Mexico, me to m-my beach." Jethro nods in agreement, looking relieved, so Tony adds, "I didn't want to stay around, d-didn't want to see you any more. Abby helped me and I…I left. Only, all the time I w-was away, I couldn't r-remember what we'd fought about. I don't like fighting with you. I'm so sorry."

"I don't like it either, Tony." Gibbs runs a finger across his eyebrow and seems annoyed at himself. "But it was my fault. Not yours."

"No."

"Yeah, it was. See, you wanted me to take sides, to choose between you and Mike, and I got angry."

"I did?" Tony doesn't remember anything about that although he can imagine Jethro's reaction. He chose to believe Mike Franks, for starters. "What did I say?" he asks even though he's afraid to know. God, he hates these dead zones in his memory and he wonders what else he's missed.

"Let's just say you put me in my place." Jethro smiles ruefully. "But you see, Tony, there never was any choice to make. I would always choose you."

"You would?"

Jethro squeezes Tony's hand. "I owed Mike." Tony starts to protest but Jethro raises his hand, making it clear he wants Tony to hear him out. "He gave me a break at what was the lowest point in my life. He made me pick myself up and taught me that it was okay to survive, to live when others had died. He believed in me, taught me how to be an investigator. He covered up for me, too, and took a huge risk to help me out…" Jethro pauses a minute and takes a deep breath. "But he's the kind of man who does whatever it takes to get the job done, and he's stubborn and secretive, and there are times he goes way over the line."

Yeah, _that_ much Tony knows. He touches the place where Franks struck him, and thinks how he blindly trusted Franks even if he never liked him, how he was jealous over Franks' close relationship with Gibbs. "But he's your friend."

"No, he isn't. Not any more. No friend of mine, of _ours_, would do that to you, Tony."

Tony looks into Jethro's eyes and sees sincerity and regret in his expression. "Are we done with this whole thing then? Can we p-put it behind us?"

"Damn, I hope so." Jethro hugs Tony tightly. "I swear I am never going to have a fight with you again."

Somehow Tony doubts that but at least he now knows they can move on. "I hope you didn't t-take it out on Abby for helping me."

Jethro scowls. "Huh. Her and Ducky."

Relaxing against Jethro's chest, Tony says, "Ducky tried to stop me, y'know. At the airport."

"Yeah, so I heard. Only neither of them told me what the hell was going on until I confronted them."

"Don't get m-mad at them. Don't."

Jethro doesn't reply. Instead, he kisses Tony on the temple and runs his hand up and down is arm.

Sighing, Tony says, "Maybe I should have stayed and f-faced everything b-but at the time it seemed the thing t-to do."

"Yeah, I understand," says Jethro, and his meaning is clear. After all, he took off for Mexico when he couldn't face the people around him, couldn't accept their help, no matter how good their intentions. "I'll always love my girls but that doesn't mean I don't have room in my heart for you, too, Tony."

"That's really sweet," Tony says with a soft smile, touched that Jethro would open up to him and actually talk about his feelings. Jethro makes a non-committal shrug and blushes. "You know how much I love you, Jethro?"

"I know. And damn it if I don't love you, Tony."

"Think you c-can show me just how much?"

Jethro leans back a little and smiles into Tony's eyes. "I might need you to show me where the bedroom is."

Tony laughs. "Y-you know where it is."

"I dunno. See, I got blown up not long ago and my memory is sorta shaky." He looks around their home as if he doesn't recognize it.

"You saying you n-need me to show you the ropes, sailor?"

Jethro's eyebrows shoot up at Tony's suggestive tone. "Yeah. I think maybe we need to start from square one. Got some Swiss cheese goin' on here," he says, touching his head.

His arms still around Jethro, Tony leans back and looks him over. "Like kissing 101? Then slowly lead up to t-touching and licking and maybe some nipple play? It might be a long time before we c-can even get to sucking and fucking…"

Jethro stares at Tony for a moment, his neck turning red as he flushes. "You know what? My memory is comin' back just fine. How about we go straight to the sucking and fucking part?"

"Oh, really? You said you c-couldn't remember…I wouldn't want to interfere with your re-recup…getting better. I wouldn't want you to f-forget what's important, like me."

"How could I ever forget you, Tony?"

"Promise you won't?"

"Promise."

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

A couple of days before Christmas, Tony decides to call his father. Although he hasn't been stuttering quite so badly, it gets worse when he's tense, so he's sure he's going to mess up the call. And that makes him stutter all the more. He stands there looking at the phone in his hand for so long that Jethro offers to help him dial the number. Shaking his head, Tony says he can do it himself, and he does, after a couple of false starts.

His father picks up on the first ring. "Tony DiNozzo."

There's the sound of traffic in the background so Tony says loudly, "It's Tony."

"What?" Senior says, "Hang on a minute," and a car door thumps and it's immediately easier to talk. "Okay, Now who am I talking to?"

"Hey, D-dad."

"Junior, is that you?"

"It's _Tony_."

There was a pause and then, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's p-p-peachy b-b-but…" _Shit. Fuck._ Tony almost hangs up.

Senior doesn't wait to hear the rest of what Tony has to say. "I'm heading for the airport, going to the Caymans for the holidays. Well, I plan to get in some wheeling and dealing, of course. Can't let an opportunity like this go to waste."

"Goes without s-saying."

"It's been a while, Junior. How about you take some time off and join me? Or are you too tightly wrapped up in that job of yours to take any time for yourself?" Tony doesn't respond immediately and, for a change, Senior picks up on it. "You okay? You sound a little off."

It's really hard to get the words out and Tony stumbles over them as he replies, "I'm…recup-recuperating, Dad. Got hurt."

After a pause, Senior says, "Well, you're talking to me so I'm guessing you're not too badly hurt. You can still come down, relax just as well on the beach as you can in DC. Tell that boss of yours you need a long weekend. I'm sure he can manage without you."

Tony almost laughs. He's had enough of beaches. He can hear honking and Senior's voice is muffled as he gives the cabbie instructions to pull over at a hotel. He sounds frazzled when he comes back. "Look, I have to go. I'm getting a ride with someone…but it was good talking to you. You change your mind, just turn up, Junior. You know where to find me."

Tony says, "It's T-tony," and then a belated, "Merry Christmas, Dad." He wants to say more but he can already hear the dial tone. It leaves him feeling down because even if talking to his dad is usually a one-sided conversation, with Senior doing all the talking and none of the listening, he's still his dad. Tony asks himself why he always expects something more.

When Tony makes his way downstairs, he finds Jethro putting some greenery on the mantel. Jethro looks at him inquiringly, and it only takes a second for him to get the picture. Without saying a word he walks over and takes Tony in his arms. Jethro smells of pine and coffee and _Jethro_, and when they kiss, Tony opens his mouth and gives all of himself to his lover, the man who is always there when he most needs him.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

**SUMMER, 2 1/2 YEARS LATER**

Tony is sitting on the dock idly watching Jethro doing boaty things onboard his recently completed sailboat. Jethro has taken her out a couple of times but those were only test runs, and now he is preparing to sail her down the Potomac, something they've both been looking forward to.

Tony thinks back to a time when he couldn't remember – didn't _want_ to remember – some things, and the déjà vu is so strong he finds himself yearning for warm blue waters where he can swim until he's exhausted, until it would be all too easy to give up and accept the sweet embrace of the sea. Only he wouldn't do that now; he would never do that to Jethro.

He doesn't know what Dr. Schwartz said in the report he sent to Ducky, but Ducky insisted Tony see someone. "To talk about your experience," is how he put it. "To sort it all out. Perhaps it will aid you in relieving stress, and less stress could very well mean less migraines, and so on. Or you could speak to Jethro about it…" Tony knows blackmail when he hears it but he complies, for Jethro's sake as much as for his own. Talking to a professional does help and now, after two years, he feels he can make sense of a life that was turned upside down by a blow to his head.

Tony still stutters when he's under stress, but working with a speech pathologist on his vocal coordination has made a big difference. So, instead of dwelling on things he knows he can't change, like a weaker left-handed grip and a slight limp, Tony imagines swimming a perfect backstroke alongside Jethro. Their sex life has improved a lot over time, especially with the reduction of some medications and with the return of Tony's confidence. He closes his eyes and replays last night's encounter, picturing Jethro, poised over him before thrusting deeply one last time before both of them come simultaneously.

The sun is warm on Tony's back and he must have zoned out for a while because next thing he knows, Jethro is standing over him. Tony squints and asks, "Mmm?"

"You coming?" asks Jethro. He sounds confident that Tony will say yes, but then Tony sees a flicker in Jethro's eyes, and he knows that even now, his lover isn't quite sure of what he's going to say or do. That's okay, it keeps Jethro on his toes, keeps their relationship alive.

Yeah, he's been in a strange place, though he's broken the surface of the deep water, emerging from those odd, spacey moments where dreams swim alongside reality. The twilight times. Now that he has been weaned off most of his seizure medications Tony feels more able to cope. Stronger. Not much more you can ask for than to be able to deal with things as they come. Plus he _finally_ got his driver's license back after two years. You have _no_ clue how much it means to be able to hop in your car anytime you want, even if it's just to drive around aimlessly to clear your head – until you can't do it any more. No fucking clue.

Tony has made friends with Tim again, and he can handle Ziva okay although he's somewhat wary of her. She has a way of needling him when he's down and he isn't quite as quick with his comebacks as he used to be. Abby apologized sincerely for the way she treated Tony during the time Gibbs was in Mexico, and Tony's okay with her because she did, after all, make all the travel arrangements for him to get to Cypress Bay.

Gibbs eventually forgave Abby and Ducky for the part they played in helping Tony to escape, and for not informing him where Tony was, even though they knew Gibbs was going crazy with worry.

Jimmy Palmer has always been a good friend and Tony hangs out with him sometimes, but he spends most of his time with Jethro these days. Things will never be as they were just a couple of years ago, but life is getting better all the time. Tony is planning to get everyone back together, the whole team, because they're stronger as a unit than they are apart.

Despite serious misgivings, Tony began teaching at FLETC just over a year ago. He started out with Assessing Non-Verbal Behaviors, a course designed to aid interrogators. Tony calls it the 'Gibbs' Guide to Getting the Most Information Out of a Suspect as Fast as You Can So You Can Go Build a Boat' even though McGee rolls his eyes and says it's too much of a mouthful. It went so well that they asked him to teach Advanced Undercover Techniques and Survival (because it's all very well getting into an undercover situation, but the trick is to get out alive).

Jethro encouraged Tony to apply for field work, but for now Tony is content to stick with teaching. He just finished a six-week assignment introducing a gaggle of fresh-out-of-the-box probies to the reality of investigative work at NCIS, and got to work with his old team as well as with other NCIS agents.

Recently Tony designed a class for beginners in using digital photography in the field after he discovered his probies lacked that basic knowledge. When Tony admits he never thought he'd return to work, Jethro slaps his ass (there are no more head slaps) and says he always believed in him, and that, in turn, makes Tony blush with pleasure.

Being around Jethro helps him keep his head on straight, and Tony has no problem with sticking near his boss, his friend, his savior. He loves Jethro, truly loves him, but more than that, he needs him, and Jethro makes Tony feels needed, too. He gets the warm and fuzzies just thinking about it.

Jethro holds out his hand. "You want to go sailing?"

Tony reaches up and lets Jethro pull him to his feet, flush to his body. Jethro smells of motor oil and sunscreen, and coffee as well, which Tony finds incredibly arousing. "Where're we going?"

Jethro thinks hard for a moment, then asks, "Well, you heard of Virginia Beach?"

Tony grins. "Yeah!"

"We're going to the town just to the left of it."

"What's it called?" Tony asks, just knowing he's playing into Jethro's hands.

After a beat, Jethro says, "Ted's."

Tony slaps Jethro's arm but that just makes the older man tighten his grip. "You stole that line from _Captain Ron_! I knew you weren't sleeping through the whole movie!"

Jethro kisses him, long and sweet, and just as Tony is really getting into it, and even moaning a bit even though they're on a public dock and a couple of women sunbathing on a nearby boat are staring, Jethro pulls back. He is panting a little, his eyes sparkling. "Ready to set sail?"

"Oh yes." Tony climbs aboard the sailboat, which Jethro has named _Stargazer_, for the first time since she's been completed, and looks around. "There _is_ a bed on this boat, right?"

"Bed? Nope."

"What? No bed? Do _not_ tell me it's equipped with hammocks. Except…on second thoughts, this could be interesting. You know, finding a good angle for penetration while it's swinging wildly in a perfect storm–."

Jethro chuckles. "It's called a berth aboard a boat, Tony. And it's a double," he says with a grin. "Plenty of room for the both of us. C'mon, let's get to work. Still a lot to do before we pull anchor."

Tony kicks up a fuss at being put to work but, in truth, he sort of gets off on it when Jethro orders him around in his deep captain's voice. "Coming, Boss," he says happily.

※÷※÷※÷※÷※

Tony never finds out exactly what was said between them in that conference room at NCIS.

He decides not to pursue it because, honestly, he doesn't want to be reminded of the terrible things he suspects they said to each other. As far as he's concerned, it's water under the bridge. There will always be a part of his life that is blank. Sometimes he wishes more of his past could be forgotten, such as being a witness to friends and colleagues getting killed, or being involved in cases gone bad, or dealing with betrayals and ruined lives.

What Tony does remember, and keeps close to his heart, is that in the end Jethro came for him because he loves him and because, like all good partners, it is his responsibility to watch Tony's six just as much as it is Tony's responsibility to watch Jethro's.

÷※÷※÷※ END ÷※÷※÷※÷※

_Captain Ron_ (1992)  
>Kurt Russell<p>

Caroline Harvey: Captain Ron, I was wondering. Are we going to be going to any more "human" type places?  
>Captain Ron: Well, you heard of St. Croix?<br>Caroline Harvey: Yeah.  
>Captain Ron: We're going to the island just to the left of it.<br>Caroline Harvey: What's it called?  
>Captain Ron: Ted's.<p>

※÷※÷※÷※ . . . ※÷※÷※÷※


End file.
